


Heil Sex und Gewalt!

by ftyhbvg, Shinigami_Ashura, Vodolej



Category: South Park
Genre: All characters are in their 30s, Almost Public Sex, Antisemitism, BDSM, Blasphemy, Drama, Foot Fetishism, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kink, Love/Hate, M/M, Nazi tattoos, Nazism, Nipple Torture, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Spanking, Strangulation, Swearing, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, characters are both douchbags, dom-sub relationship, golden rain, idiotic jokes, piercing in a penis, sexual and domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14699493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftyhbvg/pseuds/ftyhbvg, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinigami_Ashura/pseuds/Shinigami_Ashura, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vodolej/pseuds/Vodolej
Summary: AUTHOR OF ORIGINAL STORY IS "Vodolej". All credits to them and SP creators Trey Parker and Matt StoneOriginal work:https://ficbook.net/readfic/5437764https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304404THIS IS ONLY TRANSLATION. IF YOU KNOW RUSSIAN YOU CAN READ ORIGINAL WITH LINKS ABOVE.The name translates as “Heil sex and violence!”. I don’t know what can depict what happens in this fic better. They just live like this.Author’s note:None of the authors support Cartman's fascist, racist and anti-Semitic views.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vodolej](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vodolej/gifts).
  * A translation of [Heil Sex und Gewalt!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304404) by [Vodolej](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vodolej/pseuds/Vodolej). 



_“I’m not narcissistic. Just my bones are awesome.” – a/q_

_“Hold my hand for a while,_  
_I'm asking you,_  
_Hold me hard – I won’t complain._  
_A captivated heart is unable to prank”_

_Gigil (Tagalian) – irresistible wish to bite the one you love, from feeling too much._

Naked, completely stripped from their leaves, brown branches were hungrily scratching at the window from time to time. The wind blew stronger in all directions and carried clouds of prickled snow, that fell overnight and didn’t pack. A newspaper, thrown away by someone, was flying in a starting blizzard. All of its typographic paint mixed in a blurry of letters. The street was empty and quiet, only lean branches of a young maple were still flouncing, shaking off the snow and knocking at the window.

Cartman woke up only couple minutes before an alarm clock, just from his inner clock’s signal. He was so accustomed to waking up early in the morning, that even with all of his possible urges to stay in bed for a longer time, he couldn’t do it anymore. Kyle, however, was still tight asleep, nuzzling a dozy face at Cartman’s hand and possessively threw one leg over his hips. He even snored softly from time to time. His beautiful face was a little bit darkened from morning’s ginger stubble but looked relaxed and very young.

Eric was blinking for couple seconds, while his eyes were getting used to the light. It was still very early in the morning, the sun only starting to rise, and in the air was that thin, slowly fading haze, foreboding another fuckingly cold day.

Cartman was in great need to take a leak and he was as hungry as a starving animal. The evening ended up with wine, sex, and him not being fed a great deal, so now his stomach was clenching with hungry spasms in the very pit. Right now, Cartman wouldn’t refuse to have some strong coffee, sweet and hot, so fingers would burn from holding the mug. But getting up meant walking around barefoot on freezing cold floor, and every fucking plank of this fucking wooden floor would definitely creak under his weight and Kyle would definitely wake up. And awakened Kyle is a gruff Kyle; and he wouldn't take it in the mouth, no question, and wouldn’t lend his ass either, he’d just kick him out straight into the cold, but Cartman had missed Kyle these days. And missed his hot, inviting, Jewish ass.

So Cartman only sighed, yawning with the whole width of his mouth, and got more comfortable, shifting Kyle closer to himself. Kyle frowned in his sleep, strictly shifting his beautiful and thin coppery-ginger brows together, illegibly mumbling:

“But yourhonor…”

And started drooling on the inside of Cartman’s elbow.

“The little son of a bitch”, muttered Cartman, barely audible, making a grimace, but he was always amused at the sight.

He wiped at the wet spot with Kyle’s pajama top.

Kyle had always gone to bed with him in his pajamas, even though he knew that it will be ripped off him in a minute. It’s like Kyle tried to appear as a good one, like he’s normal, he’d just wanted to sleep in his bed, as usual, like he didn’t care about hungry and craving Cartman, like he wasn’t the one responsible for it.

At times, he’d even wore some white warm socks, completing the picture. And this, his guise, chaste and succumbing at the same time, like some overdeveloped school girl from porn, was evoking indescribable feelings in Cartman. Eric wanted all conflicting things to do to Kyle.

Like, getting him on his stomach on the bed and fuck so hard, that Kyle wouldn't be able to cross his legs for a week. It would be amusing:

_“As always, I object, Your Honor, but I cannot stand up, because my boyfriend gave me a good pounding. He also thinks I’m a pain in the ass, Your Honor, so you have something familiar.”_

But in reality, Kyle never in his life called him his boyfriend and, probably, would only do that after a lobotomy. For Kyle, Cartman was never his boyfriend, only a mistake, one very dangerous and unhealthy custom, like smoking. Kyle had tried to quit and even succeeded couple times. But nevertheless, he continued smoking. And continued fucking with Cartman.

_But it’s ok to dream, right?_

And still, Cartman wanted to hug Kyle, tenderly pressing him to himself, to caress his naked lean hips, to slide his arms up the light green shirt and count on his each and every rib. To say “Baby, I love you so much, everything is going to be alright, baby”. To kiss his thin rough lips, especially the lower one, capricious and soft. Then put hands on his slim neck with sharp Adam’s apple and choke him to death, watching closely at those green eyes, so bright, so smart and expressive, as the life slowly fades from them. To hold this precious life in his arms.

And still, Cartman wanted to hit Kyle in the face. Not slap, like during one of their games, when Kyle would be laying under him, tied up, but never surrendering, with sparkling green fire in his widened eyes. But punch, like during their fight, which usually happened whenever Kyle had kicked him out. To whack so hard that Kyle’s lips would burst and cherry-colored blood would flow in a continuous stream, getting on his fresh white shirt. To fucking slap him, this ginger rebellious little son of a bitch, to knee him in the stomach, to rip out his vicious pink tongue, to squeeze out his green eyes… to tear Kyle to pieces and eat all of them, until Kyle would finish, to end up in Cartman completely.

And still, Cartman wanted to just lay like this, in one bed with Kyle, drifting off away from time and space, to hold him tight and listen to his sleepy, steady breath, even if it’s not so fresh in the morning. To wrap himself in blankets in this warm and narrow cave, holding Kyle close, keeping him safe from everything in the world, to never be apart.

But all that was a utopia.

Cartman knew, that Kyle would be awake in no time, Kyle always woke up couple minutes after him, even if Cartman was laying still, and always kicked him out. In the morning he was always grim, cold and gruff, acting worse than a hysterical chick on her period. Probably furious too, because he’d yet again let himself get banged by Cartman and got a ton of pleasure from it.

Eric quietly shifted Kyle, not wanting to wait for morning’s storm and got up, getting out of bed and straightening to his full height. Freezing air, completely cooled during the night, immediately pierced into his skin. Cartman swore under his breath, getting a feeling of being stabbed with thousands of frosty little needles. The bitter cold seemed to crawl up his legs, getting higher to his knees and hips. Wooden planks expectedly creaked, had Cartman only took one step.

“Are you still here?” mumbled Kyle, shifting and turning his tousled head. “Get lost.”

“Zip it, bitch!”, replied Cartman, lacking any bitterness in his words.

He vengefully left the bathroom door open.

“Sow”, Uttered Kyle, who had to listen to one sole meandering of a stream, following toilet blears, and then buzzing noise of water in the boiler, splashing and lapping, when Cartman started brushing his teeth.

Not once Cartman had brought spare toothbrushes. Kyle would always throw them away following morning, claiming, pointlessly and pridefully, how THAT would never happen again.

At some point Cartman finally lashed out, saying that he’s not squeamish, and grabbed squeamish Kyle’s toothbrush. Kyle went green from fury, but since then he, reluctantly, agreed on keeping one extra toothbrush.

Though he’d never stop talking gibberish about last time and never again, we’d never repeat that, he’d never allow this and bla-bla-bla, all that pointless crap. You would think that ginger Jew would stop wishin’ to get his ass shagged or would find a dick tougher and thicker.

“Good-mornin' fweety(sweety)!” lively said Cartman, spitting mint foam into the sink, “How’d you fleep(sleep)?”

Kyle huffed in irritation, turning on his side and slipping into a still warm pit in the mattress left from Cartman’s body. He then immediately covered himself with a blanket to the top of his head, exposing his bare feet: slim and long, with delicate calves and sensitive toes, covered in short ginger hairs on the knuckles. Cartman almost ate the toothbrush.

Kyle seemed to pretend, probably out of pride, that his feet aren’t freezing, and he certainly doesn’t want to hunch like a shrimp, completely crawling into underblankets.

Cartman washed his face in no rush, wiping it with a towel afterward, and pensively scratched his cheek – he needed to shave, but Kyle, surely, wouldn’t let him, probably making a fuss and then chasing him out like a diseased stray dog.

“Go away”, grumbled Kyle, almost as if he could read his mind. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“Never again?” asked Cartman, who already knew the way this dialog was going better, than the palm of his own hand.

“At all!”, expectedly replied Kyle, and feeling suspicious, actually tried to hide his legs.

But it was already too late, Cartman grabbed his slim ankles and pulled closer to himself. Kyle gasped, revealed to the cold and blanket covering him from upper torso to the top of his head.

“Fuck off, Cartman!” Squeaked Kyle. “I want to sleep! I have almost an hour left!”

“Great!” nodded Eric to himself. “This means we still have plenty of time, kitty.”

He forcefully parted long, stubbornly closing Kyle’s legs, and tried to fit himself in between. Kyle kicked and did it so successfully, that he managed to free one of his legs, the left one, and painfully whacked Eric’s shoulder.

He then freed himself from blanket’s captivity, staring at Cartman with sparkling green eyes.

Kyle was truly beautiful - with creamy white skin and freckles across his shoulders, with big eyes and nose and very much ginger. Classic successful faggot in a white shirt, yuppie from head to toe.

“Car-r-rtman!” growled Kyle. “I’ve already told you to fuck off! Get out!”

“So, all of this was a mistake?” Cartman gave him a hint in an innocent voice.

“Yes!” Screamed Kyle and bit his tongue, realizing that Cartman sneakily made him lose control yet again.

He let himself fall back onto the pillow, putting his arms under his head and spoke in a nonchalant voice.

“You know what, you can do whatever you want, I don’t care.”

“Yeah?” asked again Cartman, trying not to grin. He was amused and turned on by this submissive facade, though Kyle looked very good with it. He could certainly use more submissiveness.

“Yeah,” indifferently replied Kyle. “You can rape me, I won’t fight back. But I’ll call the cops later and you’ll be jailed.”

Cartman laughed. Kyle, who was looking at the ceiling stared back at him. There was a starting revulsion at the pit of his eyes, but he was still holding back.

“All right”, said Cartman. “If you ask to fuck you so badly…”

He crawled into the bed, lowering himself on his stomach and put Kyle’s slim muscular legs on his shoulders. Kyle was visiting gym three times a week, on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Sundays; and his legs were the finest - strong, long and beautiful.

Cartman would certainly kick straight in the face anyone, who’d call him a cocksucker. He’d simply rip out their whole jaw, to teach a good lesson. But Kyle… blowing Kyle wasn’t anything close to that, Kyle wasn’t… well, Kyle was… Kyle was his chick, his ginger slut, his favorite, precious bitch, though without a cunt, and going down for a girl is ok. There is nothing wrong, to pleasure your chick.

Kyle flinched with his whole body and looked suspiciously between his knees. Cartman, actually, didn’t pet him like that very often. Not because he was so against it, it’s just that Kyle was one of those people who enjoyed it more, when they got their ass pounded, so Cartman usually would pleasure him differently.

“Cartman?” Quietly called Kyle. “What are you doing? S-stop…”

He stuttered and closed his eyes, exhaling loudly and fidgeted on the pillow under his head. Ginger curls encircled his pale face like a rusty halo. Cartman was willing to pray this icon, his personal petulant God every day. But, of course, he’d never have said that, not wanting to expose himself to Kyle’s sharp tongue.

Kyle relaxed, and his tensed legs relaxed too, getting heavier and crossing behind Cartman’s back. A warm hand rested upon Cartman’s shaved nape and scratched behind his ear.

“Eric…”, softly and tenderly called Kyle.

Cartman raised his gaze, smirking smugly, he’d noticed how Kyle’d blushed, his breath getting labored, his lips were dark-pink and slick from licking, with eyes wild and high.

Kyle’s member was slim and circumcised, all slick from saliva, sticking up tensely with transparent viscously tart slime that drained from the tiny pink slit. Cartman sucked on a small golden ring and Kyle gasped.

Kyle was so very sensitive, delicate in all places, that’s why he was balking at first, refusing the piercing, and now, - as Cartman would guess, - was enjoying it not only in bed. Cartman was always forgetting to ask, how Kyle would feel, standing in his beloved courtroom, in front of all those sweet-mouthed faggots, while his white, thick, and elastic underwear would surely rub against the ring. Was he thinking about Cartman at those moments?

But Kyle never answers questions like that, of course, unless he’s screeching on a dick. Oh, at moments like that Kyle simply isn’t capable of lying or keeping it quiet.

“Eric!” exhaled Kyle and stuck his perfectly manicured nails into Cartman’s head.

Cartman prepared to swallow. Not the best experience and taste isn’t that good, but Kyle, who looks like a high slut, started to tremble, his legs spread wide, nails digging and scratching against his head again. Kyle screamed loudly:

“Eric, come on! Please!”

Hot and sore spilled into Cartman’s mouth. He quickly swallowed and moved, but couldn’t resist and kissed shivering Kyle on a hipbone.

Cartman knew, that they only have couple seconds, minutes at maximum, of affection after that familiar insulting will follow. Cartman buried himself into Kyle’s stomach, flat and fit, savoring small touches on his ears, nape, and cheek. Kyle was silent, slowly caressing, touching, and scratching him and when his fingers stopped, Cartman closed eyes for a second, because their moments of peace and understanding were over.

“That’s all.”, Kyle said in a hoarse voice, coughed and then repeated in his normal tone of a successful lawyer. “That’s all, now you need to go.” Cartman nodded and got off the bed. He wouldn’t refuse to get off himself, - ideally, on Kyle’s face, but he instinctively felt, that time for that was over, and Kyle wouldn’t go along now. Well, he always had his right hand and a ton of great memories.

Cartman started to dress, trying to locate his belongings, that were scattered across the room due to yesterday’s passionate activities. Kyle was looking at him with eyes of a spoiled cat. He was already wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, covered not only by this laughable barrier but by distanced and sealed.

“Write me letters, sweety”, advised Cartman. “‘Cause you know, just whistle and he’ll come. Meaning - me.”

“Meaning - Black Cape”, pointed out Kyle. “Although I’m not going to whistle.  
I’m serious, Cartman. This was the last time, and it never happens again.”

Cartman nodded obediently, making a bet with himself, that Kyle wouldn’t last longer than a few weeks. If Cartman wins - he’ll drink a bottle of a good beer, and if he didn't - he'll drink two, including a booby one.

“Now go”, stated Kyle. “And through the back door, please.”

“You have everything through the back door”, grinned Cartman, dirtily wiggling his eyebrows.

Kyle only rolled his eyes in annoyance. Cartman leaned across the bed, steadying himself with one knee, ignoring Kyle’s angry look, and kissed his cheek.

“You’re walking in the cowsheds in those clothes”, mumbled Kyle, “And I’m sleeping here. Get off.”

“Kiss me”, demanded Cartman. “And I’ll get off.”

Kyle threw him a displeased look, then sighed hopelessly, moved closer and kissed Cartman’s lips. He’d already given up because it will be much easier, faster and safer to follow with such things.

A wave of electricity ran through Cartman’s body, the familiar feeling from Kyle’s kiss running from his head to toe. Oh, how he’d wanted to rip out his own heart and bestow it to Kyle. To say him: _“I love you, you Hebrew whore, I fucking love you so much that I can’t stand living without you”_. But Kyle would never value such a gift, nor these words, Kyle’s not the type to value something like this. He needs something materialistic, pricey, fashionable, and please let it be in season now.

Cartman never could be called fashionable or trendy. There were no seasons for his style, and even the fact that he was a few seconds away from Kyle’s bed was simple luck, much of stubbornness and the famous love of Jews for sexual pursuits.

“Leave, fatass”, whispered Kyle, looking him straight in the eyes without blinking.

“Bye, Jew”, following quietly replied Cartman, smooching loudly at the tip of Kyle’s long nose and left, taking his jacket and boots, covered in mud, with him.


	2. 2

Kyle patiently waited, while the motor rattled. Cartman was warming his “Cherokee”, then mockingly honked. Kyle even jumped in surprise. Then Cartman finally left, and Kyle closed his eyes trying to sleep but, of course, he couldn’t. “Fuck!” powerlessly swore Kyle realising that he woke up earlier than usual on his legitimate day-off.

He shifted around, pointlessly, for couple minutes trying to mentally talk himself into sleeping, but gave up in the end, and vigorously threw the blanket away. He grit his teeth immediately from cold, feeling his balls shriek,his nipples harden, and big goosebumps cover his skin.

 

“ _I wonder, what would Cartman say at this? He’d surely say some first-class vulgarities._ ”

 

He was infuriated with himself the following second. What’s the damn difference in what some Cartman would think or say? Any of his connections with him were just one big mistake, a complete mess.

Kyle nervously searched in his carefully folded trousers for a pack of cigarettes, lit one up, and, still covered in a blanket, went down to the kitchen.

Of course, no one bothered to wash the dishes yesterday. There were dried remains of food on the plates, and the sole pit of coffee grounds that sat at the bottom of the mug. Kyle gritted his teeth, as he turned the coffee machine on and started washing the dishes, irritated. He regretted Cartman leaving so soon, he could have crashed some of these dishes against his shaved head, that seemed to only to occupy a maximum three thoughts anyway: to eat, fuck, and insult someone.

Kyle totally didn’t expect Cartman coming over yesterday and didn’t plan on calling him either. He’d planned to eat in a grateful solitude, peace and quiet. To drink some wine. To watch some good, calm movie. Maybe, even call his brother.

But his stupid phone mixed his contacts, for some unknown reason, and when dynamics answered with Cartman’s purry voice: “Yes, sweety, did you miss me?”, instead of Ike’s, it was too late to hang up. Well not late, but it would look weak. Like Kyle had just called, and then got scared. Although it seemed improbable, that it was how it happened anyway.

“You want me to come over?”, Cartman asked him, realizing that this silence wasn’t doing him any good.

“Whatever”, nonchalantly replied Kyle, nervously sticking his nails into own knee and trying his best not to give up how nervous he was with his voice.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes”, said Cartman, clicking with something at the background. Probably changing the address on the GPS. “Fluff the pillows and turn on the goddamn heating.”

Kyle scoffed and hung up, but he regretted it now, not listening to his good advice.

The House was completely frozen over the night, and a healthy cool was now replaced with an unbearable cold, that surely wasn’t doing any good to anyone. Of course, Cartman warmed him over the night… both Cartman and the wine, they both made great efforts, but in the morning, it seemed as though each goddamn wall was covered in ice.

Kyle held his warm cup closer, getting himself comfortable on a chair, folding the blanket in a way to cover his bare feet into the self-made pocket, his nose almost stuck into the coffee, and he started to think of how to occupy his time.

Stan promised to show up around lunch, and there was at least a few more hours before that. He absolutely didn’t want to deal with his work papers and he couldn’t sleep in anymore; sneaky Cartman ruined all his plans.

Kyle gulped his coffee then stilled, seeing a dark mark on his right wrist first time this morning. On his left wrist, he noticed another symmetrical purple trace. Kyle jumped to his feet, forgetting about the cold and rushed to a reflecting refrigerator, seeing what Cartman had done to him, whining painfully. The only thing left was to take a marker and write on his own forehead: “Cartman fucked me again.”

On his neck, right under his ear was big bloody hickey,and a blue mark left under a nipple, though Kyle didn't even remember being bitten there. He only wished, brutally, that there were plenty of marks on Cartman too. But the thing is, those cows, horses, cats, and dogs, that Cartman messes around with every day don’t give a damn whether or not he had his back or hips clawed.

Kyle fearfully turned around, looking in the mirror, and almost screamed in fury, seeing dark hand marks on his nape. That bastard Cartman, had allowed himself such a relaxed hold in the bed, that had turned into a steel grip if Kyle wouldn’t behave. And Kyle was very naughty during the night, that's why his own tie and belt were put to use. And just to top it all off, Cartman turned him on the stomach and grabbed his nape firmly, and here’s the result.

“Never again!”, Kyle loudly and decisively announced, looking at his own naked and well-worn reflection.

“Never!”

His reflexion was very determined and glum. Yet, at the bottom of Kyle’s own heart, he couldn’t feel that determination. On the very bottom of his soul, in the deep of the deepest part of his little soul, he only felt indescribable desire to repeat everything that happened during the night. And the sooner, the better. Cartman was a scumbag, a jerk, a nazi, an animal, and a brute, just an all around immoral prick, but he could fuck like nobody’s business.

But Kyle, to be honest, had no idea how anyone else could fuck. His experience was limited to some wasted students in college, - when he couldn’t care less with who; a couple prostitutes, - when he “searched himself” and Cartman(the cause of all his troubles), he didn't know what to think of it, but Cartman was more than enough.

Cartman corrupted and cynically seduced him, guiding him to the path of sodomy, and continued to fuck with his life, and Kyle was allowing it for some reason. Though he’d sworn, a thousand times already, to put an end to this and become normal.

It was nice to be normal during the day, surrounded by these technically normal people. It was good to be normal with his colleagues and friends. In a gym, at a movie theater, or a supermarket, but an empty, cold bed didn’t care whether you were normal or not. There, in that huge bed, between all those cold blankets, were sad, lonely, and desperate feelings. It was awful, to just lay there, with a tucked blanket under his nose, and listen to the sound of branches scratching against the glass, the howling of the wind, and the crinkling of snow the whole night.

But on the other hand was it better to be lying with spreaded legs under your life nemesis? To readily give up yourself to a cynical animal, to a Nazi, listening to his hoarse breath, to feel the touch of his hands, his heavy body, his sweat, spit, and sperm. And the worst of all is to get satisfied with all this dirty, filthy, almost animalistic sex from the first second to the last. Until you scream and shudder, then passing out.. To give your all, to bestow control, each and every time into another’s hands, that can both be rough and gentle.

Kyle, smiling despondently, took a clean shirt out of the drawer, put on warm pants he wore at home, and took a glossy-covered cooking book from the shelf. The book was one that Stan brought him the other day, teasing him, saying that this kind of stuff will suit the intellectual nerd, that Kyle had become over the years.

Kyle flipped through the pages, looking at the bright,colorful pictures and thinking, stopping at one page with chili soup. On this page he pedantically put a bookmark, continuing flipping pages. Kyle chose a european vegetable dish _“Ratatouille”_ , just because the name sounded nice and interesting to him, and, probably, because Stan, in fact, didn’t like vegetables that much.

While Kyle was cooking, he’d just realized that he’s been thinking and thinking about Cartman, torturing himself with his uncertainties. Cartman was the greatest evil in his life by the default. Kyle grew up with Cartman and never saw anything good in him, because Cartman never was a good person.

Little Cartman was a huge piece of shit, not even slightly harmless, and when he suddenly grew up from that short fat child into a huge, tall adult with fucking massive shoulders, he became truly dangerous. Especially, considering his social and political views in life.

Kyle still hoped, that one day, Cartman would grow out of his interest in nazism, but as it turns out, this stuck with him forever. And Kyle would always wonder how Cartman had all of these intolerant and fascist views, but meanwhile having no scruples whatsoever - to chase after Kyle, and not just chase, but do all of these things, things that fascists don’t pat each other on the back for. But Cartman was one weird dude after all. Even from their childhood, he was a proper head case.

Kyle suddenly remembered, detailed and clear, the day he had realized everything about Cartman. Even if it happened… ten years ago, Kyle still remembers everything, as if it happened only yesterday.

At the time, all that nazi bullcrap, that Cartman always felt obsessed with became popular for a short term. Gladly, all that came as fast as it went, it was pretty shallow, but at that time, Cartman wasn’t alone in his beliefs.

When returning from college for weekends or holidays, Kyle always saw Cartman with his buddies. He had always had an aptitude for making many friends, even though they were always fast to go, Eric was rarely alone. At the time Kyle was in touch with his family, not yet aware of his own sleeping insanity. Or, maybe, he knew, subconsciously, and never really thought about it that much.

During those years, Kyle smirked, remembering it now, he and Cartman would argue about everything every time they met, so sparks would fly. Maybe, for anyone on the outside looking in, it was clear from the first glance what was happening between them, but they, themselves, always had a certain mutual hatred. At least in Kyle’s eyes it was.

At that day, sunny and good, to be honest, a quite rare, light and almost warm day, Kyle had again encountered Cartman. And that's when his life changed.

Cartman, surrounded by his new friends, who he’d dragged from some nearby town, were occupying a green alley by the school. There, they were loitering in the shadow, smoking, drinking, and randomly harassing passersby, thought Kyle was suspicious any of them was twenty-one. But Cartman had always been able to get what he’d wanted, even if it meant breaking the law.

Kyle was on his way to the local library, surrendering to Ike’s pleas to go bring his books for him. And honestly, after seeing this overgrown hitlerland on a stakeout, Kyle understood why Ike didn’t want to go himself.

Cartman was smoking, blowing the smoke out of his nostrils, neglectfully listening to some lanky dude, nodding at his words from time to time. This dude appeared as a pink worm beside massive and shoulder-wide Cartman, who seemed to add some new tattoos. Kyle’d already seen the numbers and swastika, but now he noticed something he’d never seen, - a Celtic cross on his whole shoulder and gothic writing, that was partly covered by the t-shirt, and was showing up on the other side of his back. It was pretty cold for the shirt, but Cartman had always been a show-off. And Cartman, an asshole who hated blacks, - was tattooing himself like some rap-idol.

Then, Cartman had seen Kyle and even twitched from angry happiness. His eyes were caught on fire, and he immediately forgot about the conversation he had, lazily crossing Kyle’s path, smirking teasingly. And Kyle suddenly realized, like the curtains were up in front of his eyes, that Cartman had rapidly grown up in just one summer. He was almost two heads above Kyle, and so wide in shoulders, that Kyle was not only smaller, but all hid in Cartman’s shadow. And he started to feel fear, because… because with those black, mocking eyes of Cartman, he was being looked at by some shaved goon nazi. And Cartman’s eyes, which were never bright in the first place, definitely weren’t like that now.

“Je-e-ew,” sweetly said Cartman, shoving his hands into his cargo-pants pockets, blocking the way.

“Fatass,” copying his tone replied Kyle, ignoring the cold sweat pulling at the small of his back. “I see you’ve eaten all your old buddies, to make new ones?”

Cartman absently looked back and then grinned. His teeth were white and sharp.

“Smart-ass,” he replied with a gentle hatred. “I’ll break your fucking neck, kike.”

“You can try,” suggested Kyle, frowning. “Touch me and you’ll end up in jail. I bet black brothers will enjoy “Mein Kampf” in The Shawshank, if you read it with enough enthusiasm”.

Cartman sincerely laughed, throwing his head back.

Kyle unwittingly looked at his strong neck and sharp Adam’s apple. Damn, how did small and fat Cartman turned into such a bull just in one year? This isn't fair! Kyle here is jumping out of his skin, just to build a decent amount of muscle, and Cartman got his shoulders that wide without even going to the gym once, for sure.

Kyle had to struggle, suppressing the urge to pull up Cartman’s black shirt and check, if he has a six pack or not.

“Fear not, stupid Jew,” said Cartman. “I won’t touch ya. We’re nice guys, who don’t touch chicks in heat”.

He then smirked, showing his white teeth. His eyes were sparkling, but looked thoroughly cautious. Kyle had seen something like that on Discovery channel, large predators, who were filmed while they sat in the ambush. Some creature with razor-sharp teeth, dripping saliva and staring at the poor zebra without blinking an eye. And in their eyes you could see their inner machine running: calculating how to jump, where to snap and how later to skin. There’s just couple of instincts in that creature, it's conscious on zero, and thoughts are absent completely… just like in Cartman. And then the creature clicks it's teeth, and zebra is done for.

“Another stupid joke,” concluded Kyle. “Cartman get the fuck off of me, I'm in a hurry.”

“You’re asking me to fuck off, but you don’t ask me with respect,” pointed out Cartman, not even thinking to move. “I don’t like that, Jew”.

Kyle was glaring intensely at his face, with wide cheekbones and hairy gray eyebrows. On Cartman’s upper lip appeared almost healed crack, he must have fought someone. Right near his ear still darkened a bruise. On his chin, to the left, Kyle noticed to himself a tiny mole. Cartman was smirking.

“And do you deserve that respect?” asked Kyle, wondering. “You are biotrash, Cartman. Well, maybe I’d still hand you some loose change for a bagel and a coffee when you drink yourself into uselessness and become homeless”.

Cartman’s cheek twitched and eyes darkened. He’d stopped smiling and bend a little, shoving Kyle’s shoulder in the process:

“Don’t push it, kike,” he whispered, almost touching the tip of Kyle’s nose with his lips. “Or I could forget about my “nice guy” principle”.

Kyle scoffed, then he shoved Cartman, - though it was easier to try to shove a brick wall, he just circled him and continued with his path.

And on his way back home, he was stalked by Cartman’s buddies. Kyle didn’t pay much attention to Cartman’s other flunkies before, that’s why he only recognized the lanky one, who had his suspenders hanging lower than his knees, clutching to his pants. The lanky one looked like a snot, which was being shoved into some baggy pants for some reason. It appeared as though he would slip out from his boots and crawl in the grass like disgusting slimy eel.

“You weren’t very polite to our friend,” said the lanky one with his squeaky high-pitched voice.

“You’re not his friends,” pointed out Kyle, noticing with the back of his eye that he’s being cornered. There was three of them, and they’ve surrounded him, standing in a triangle, so he wouldn’t have a path to escape. Sneaky bastards.

“He’d screw you over, when he sees any benefit from it,” he said. “So fuck off of me, you nazi cocksuckers”.

Kyle was certain to the very end, that he would be able to fight back. At least, give them some good kicks. But none of that actually happened, they weren’t going to fight him, they just knocked him to the ground and started beating and kicking him.

His backpack burst open, and a cell phone made an expected cracking sound. But Kyle couldn’t care less at that moment, because the same cracking sound just came from his ribs. He had some luck by covering his face with his hands, so their heavy and dirt-covered shoe only sliced at his nose and cheek, leaving a trace of dirt on his knuckles and face. At the next moment he wasn’t so lucky because the tip of the boot smashed right into the bridge of his nose, and the world went with white pain, then soon turned red. Kyle screamed at the top of his lungs, choking on the blood collecting in his mouth. Which they added with a punch to his stomach, making him curl even more, and then whacked his kidney so hard, he stopped thinking completely.

A wet spot was formed beneath him, his pants sticking to his legs, but he wasn’t feeling embarrassed, not one bit. The embarrassment and disgust came later, when the piss started streaming onto him in three jets. It was getting into his ear, his broken nose, well, at least his mouth was covered with the hand that Kyle was covering his face with; choking from the pain, the streaming blood, the embarrassment,and the defenceless rage.

Then they left, and he was lying in a disgusting puddle, trying to make himself stand up. He was wet, covered in blood and urine, and when he managed to sit everything streamed down from his hair, getting his shirt and coat all messy. His already ripped coat, covered in dirt and piss.

His gutted backpack was the thing that could symbolize what happened to him the most. It’s pink-ish insides were torn inside-out almost as if… as if it’s been raped. The books were covered in mud and some electronics and wires were sticking out from his phone. His wallet was empty, of course. Jew or not, taking his money wasn’t making those fuckers squeamish.

Kyle, crawling on all fours, whining and spitting blood, managed to collect his belongings and only then made himself stand up. The blood dried under his nose, his lips, his chin, and neck; his eyebrow hurt with that dull pain that happens when you hit your head too hard. His nose became as swollen as a potato, and the graze above his eye was bleeding so hard, that he could only see with one, supplemented by white and red flashes of pain.

Good thing it was already dark.

Kyle barely was able to make his way back home, stopping from time to time to collect his breath. He felt somewhat blasphemous to thank god for his family visiting a synagogue at the moment. The last thing he needs right now - is his mother’s pity.

And when Kyle almost made his way to the front door, thinking his adventures were over for the day, from an unlighted part of the front porch arose massive darkened carcase.

“Listen, jew,” brazenly said Cartman. “We need to ta…”

He then stopped and went silent.

“Your buddies talked to me already,” Kyle said wearily, clutching to the handrail, trying not to wobble so much.

He felt like crying. He was so weak and humiliated, that he needed this person the least at this moment, to add to his sufferings. The person, who hated him so much, he’d savour every second of his misery. That was it, - the peak of his sorrow. Well, at least it couldn't get any worse.

“I’m sorry for picking on you,” mumbled Kyle, hoping that Cartman can’t see his face clearly in the dark. “I won’t do that again. Leave now… please”.

Cartman stepped closer instead of answering, clicked his lighter and started looking at Kyle with that beam yellow light. In this light his face became almost demonic. Kyle wouldn’t be surprised if Cartman started laughing at him like the devil himself.

But Cartman wasn’t laughing. He was only looking closely, narrowing his eyes, as if he was taking pictures of each bruise with his gaze.

“Hm,” He finally uttered, sniffing.

And then his lips definitely stretched into a smile, and Kyle, seeing his plump lower lip, curved into mocking smirk, could feel everything drop in his gut. He started to shake, realizing, that he has only two options now - to leave this town, or to cut himself in the bathtub, because Cartman will surely torture him and lower him so much, that all their previous history would only appear as baby laundering.

“Jew, did they piss on you too?” asked Cartman, curving his eyebrow. Yellow joyful lights were reflecting in his eyes.

Kyle started to sob. He was never that humiliated in his entire life, never felt so low. He wasn’t the worst person in the world, so why did he deserve all this? First, these scumbags who were just bored and wanted to pick on someone, then Cartman, with his sharp tongue, his rancour and vice. That was too much for Kyle.

He tried to cover his face with his hands, but ended up touching his broken nose, beginning to cry even more. The blood streamed down his fingers, sticky and hot, and his temples were pumping with dull pain and embarrassment. Kyle powerlessly sat on the stairs, trying to cover himself, as if Cartman was hitting him too. Actually, he was - with his gaze and his surely pompous smirk.

Suddenly, the door slammed, the lights went on, and his eyes were met with yellow - it was Cartman, who found the keys beneath the lintel. Kyle turned his swollen red face to see what’s going on and gasped, as he was suddenly lifted into the air. Cartman was holding him, like he was a small child, without a hint of disgust and not afraid to get dirty. He carried him into the house, going into the bathroom. He remembered perfectly where everything was, even though he wasn’t around a lot recently.

“Can you undress by yourself or not?” asked Cartman.

His face was weird, unreadable. Kyle tried to shake off his coat, but ended up hanging his hand down with a small groan, his ribs were screaming with pain at the slightest movement.

“I see,” concluded Cartman, starting to take his clothes off of him.

Kyle just noticed how Cartman’s fingers were shaking.

His soaked and dirty coat went straight into the bag, followed by each layer of clothing that was being shedded off of Kyle. Seeing a pink wet spot on his pants, Cartman didn’t make any comments about it, just shoving them to the rest of his threads.

Kyle was shaking from cold and what he’s been through, even forgetting about his embarrassment, when he realized that Cartman was staring at his slim and beaten body with a heavy gaze. There was something in that gaze, something scary, that made Kyle cover his balls and cock with his two hands, even though his ribs were screaming in pain again.

“We better get you in the shower,” said Cartman. “You stink too much, jew”.

He carefully took Kyle’s chin, touching some scratch and looked cautiously at the nose.

“Is it broken?”

“Of course it is,” scoffed Cartman. “And just not in one place. Just how did they manage not to kick some of your teeth out?”

Tears streamed down Kyle’s cheeks again, because all of this was just unfair.

“Stop bawling,” ordered Cartman. “It’ll heal till you’re married”.

“All of it is because of you,” mumbled Kyle. “It’s your fault!”

Cartman was staring at him for couple seconds.

It was a weird stare, like Cartman was hurting, like it was his nose and ribs being broken, his kidney whacked and fingers being stepped on by army boots. But at the same time, there was a lingering want to add to all the beating. As if Cartman was regretting, that it wasn’t him, who busted up Kyle really badly. Kyle felt fear again. He wondered, if Cartman was going to start beating him now; he’d surely end up killing him.

Finally, Cartman stepped back, frowning and slouching, and then mumbled:

“I’m going to call you an ambulance. Wash yourself as well as you can.”

And then he left.

Kyle was certain, that after a day or two, with Cartman’s encouragement, all town would start to call him a “Pissher” or “Pissy”, or something even more degrading and humiliating. Kyle was balancing between a dream and reality, not fully realizing where he is, or what’s happening to him. He was being fed with sedatives, he was sleeping. He was being spoon fed, and he ate. He got bandaged, and he was whining from the pain. Then they’d let him go home, and he couldn’t even remember when his mom drove him home the car, all covered in blankets and coats. All the time he was sleeping, and if not, then looking into the ceiling, losing all will to live and function.

The one thing, that probably got him out of that listless unreal condition,- was a call to his cell phone.

“Ka-a-ahl,” stretched the name Cartman in his usual manner.

 _Here we go again,_ Kyle thought to himself, waking up in a second, the torpor being shaken off, and apathy disappearing. _Well, it starts now._

“What?” He asked, somewhat incoherently. His tongue wasn’t moving well, and the bandage was putting some weight onto the nose.

“Come to the abandoned canyon,” ordered Cartman. “Right now.”

Kyle sat and rubbed his eyes. He was in his own bedroom, but couldn’t even remember - how he got there, or what day it was.

“Are you crazy?” He asked surprised. “What the fuck am I supposed to do there?”

“Ka-a-ahl,” Cartman said, irritated. “Didn’t you hear me clearly? I’m expecting you in a half hour. Find some warm panties and come here.”

“And what if I don’t?” asked Kyle warily, getting out of the bed.

Cartman went silent.

“Well, it seems like you already know what,” he finally answered. “And you’re not going to like it, jew, I can guarantee that.”

“You’re an asshole!” Said Kyle wholeheartedly, trying to spot at least some of his clothing.

“Will you come, sissy?” enquired Cartman in a businesslike tone.

“I will, damn you!” Kyle snapped.

Changing his shirt wasn’t going to happen without someone’s help, because his ribs were heavily bandaged, so Kyle just put on some coat above his pajamas and found a clean scarf to wrap his bruised face with. And with some effort, he managed to slip his feet into sneakers, not bending down or untying the laces.

To his relief, no one was at home: Ike was still in school, dad was at work and mom drove to the store, so Kyle sneaked out of the house unnoticed, going down the street and turning to the path to abandoned canyon, trying to guess - why Cartman chose that God forsaken place.

Cartman was sitting on his car’s hood, sipping coffee from a disposable cup. For couple minutes, he was pretending not to notice breathless and angry Kyle. He was enjoying the sunset, drinking the coffee and whistling some trendy tunes. Kyle was also silent, looking at his face with interest. He lost all the words, seeing a big black bruise, a bandage on split eyebrow and another one around the mouth. They were a sweet twix pair right now.

“Did you... fight?” he asked curiously. “Did you... fight with those guys?”

“You’re late, jewboy,” replied Cartman calmly, looking at his wrist watch that was ticking.

Kyle hasn't seen anyone in a long time, who’d wear one of these in the age of smartphones.

“Well sorry,” said Kyle with venom. “My three ribs are broken,so I’m not as fast right now.”

Cartman looked at him and smiled. It was a scary smile. Kyle felt fear immediately and started to regret coming here.

“I forgive you,” Cartman magnanimously replied, jumping off the hood.

“So what now?” asked Kyle. “Are you going to blackmail me now? Threaten Me?”

Cartman grinned again.

“That’s actually a good idea,” he said. “Your nose is broken, but mouth is still working, right?”

Kyle felt some sweat running down his spine.

“Cartman,” he said cautiously. “Are you joking right now? Is that one of your sick jokes?”

Cartman’s lips twitched. He was certainly fighting with himself, that was clear even to Kyle.

“Of course I’m joking, Jew,” Cartman finally said.

Kyle exhaled. Cartman scoffed, seeing the relief on his face.

“I have a gift for you,” said Cartman. “Three even. I know well, what a greedy Jewboy you are.”

He finished his drink, smashing the cup and throwing it into the canyon.

“Cartman, don’t litter,” said Kyle automatically.

How could he know, what was about to happen next?

Cartman took him by the elbow, very gently to be honest, which was weird for him, circled the car and nodded.

“Choose two,” he said, pointing at the three big squinting black trash bags, wrapped with tape.

Kyle faltered, barely managing to keep himself standing.

“Wha-what is this?” he choked the words. “Is this…”

“Two... are yours,” said Cartman calmly. “One... mine.”

Kyle was looking at him, terrified, he was too afraid to even think about what Cartman had meant.

“Go on,” Cartman encouraged him. “No one will know.”

“Are you insane?” whispered Kyle. “They’re alive!”

“Well, soon they won’t be,” cynically replied Cartman. “This is a solved issue.”

One of the bags just stopped thrashing around.

“Oh,” said Cartman. “Seems like - they're ready.”

He let go of Kyle, coming closer and got down on one knee, pulling at the top of one of the bags. Kyle recognized The lanky dude, who looked like an eel. In his mouth, with mocking obscenity sat a red ball gag from an adult shop.

“I did tell you, that he was my jew, Billy,” tenderly said Cartman. “I did warn you, that you don’t want to touch him.”

Billy bellowed something. Maybe, he was apologizing,but maybe, on the contrary, he was probably cursing Cartman.

“Cartm… Eric, don’t,” mumbled Kyle, leaning against the car; his legs were failing him. “You don’t have to do whatever you’re planning.”

Cartman got up, absently brushing off his knee, and came closer to him.

“You see Kyle,” he said in such a tone, as though he was talking with a small child. “The thing is, I don’t like it when people touch my things without permission. And I'll never excuse anyone who does that.”

“I’m not your thing,” Kyle replied.

Cartman smiled tenderly. He didn’t even say anything, everything said though smile. _“ Of course you are my thing, “_ said that smile. _“You are my favourite, precious hebrew toy ”._

He squeezed Kyle between himself and the car, trying not to touch his ribs, towering over him with his shoulders, and looking him straight in the eyes. To think of it, it was completely inappropriate. As if Cartman was trying to… kiss him or something?

“Eric, let them go, please,” asked Kyle. “It's… it's murder!”

“Yeah,” nodded Cartman. “That’s what it’s called, I know. It's also called an “execution”, have you ever heard of that word-y?”

Kyle outstretched his hand and grabbed him by the black shoulder strap.

“Don’t,” he asked in a whisper. “We shouldn’t… we have no right.”

Cartman scoffed.

“Close your eyes, sweety,” he suggested.

He then covered Kyle’s hand with his, holding it for some time, then gently, but firmly moved Kyle's fingers from his shirt.

Kyle obeyed for once. He struggled to find any will in himself to stop everything, but failed to scrape together any kind of pity or integrity for these guys. These guys had broke his nose. And ribs. And almost crushed his kidney. They beat him just for… just for nothing. Because there was three of them against one. Because they were stronger. Although, Cartman ended up being stronger than all of them. Cartman always ended up stronger than anyone, if you think of it.

Kyle flinched, when he heard continuous rustle of a bag, then short swishing, and then the suppressed, a rapid distancing bellow and the wet sound of the impact somewhere below. He felt nauseous and horrified, a knot started to form in his gut. And Cartman was already dragging the second bag, that was desperately thrashing around, to the end of the cliff.

“Eric, don’t!” yelped Kyle, foolishly opening his eyes.

Cartman stopped, looking at him shortly, but still pushed the bag. It balanced for mere moments on the edge of the collapsing scattered cliff before it fell down. Kyle bit his fist, to suppress the scream. Cartman straightened up and went after the third bag with his relaxing pitrecantrop’s walk.

And after that, when everything was over, he brushed off his hands and came closer to shivering Kyle.

“We can never tell anybody of this,” mumbled Kyle, his teeth chattering.

“Of course,” agreed Cartman. “It is our little secret, my precious jew.”

Kyle looked up at him with sickened eyes. Cartman was looking back, his own eyes unreadable, though they were sparkling wildly.

“I will never allow anyone to touch my things,” he said with animalistic savageness in his voice.

“You’re fucked up,” replied Kyle, leaning onto his car. “You’re sick.”

Cartman nodded, then firmly stepped closer, holding Kyle against the car, then put his hands on the slim shoulders and started kissing him, leaving wet stinging kisses on Kyle’s cheeks, lips and bruises.

A minute ago he’d killed three and, maybe, they were still alive at this moment, feeling unimaginable agony, and Cartman was invading Kyle’s mouth with his wet tongue. Cartman was horrible, amoral, completely fucked up, a sick in his head psychopath, a nazi, and now, a murderer.

Kyle carefully hugged him by the waist, relaxing into a firm and gentle grip, replying to the kiss.

He better knew then, how this would end up. Cartman got off the rails then, and now it was useless, to try to make him a decent member of society.

Kyle finished serving the table, washed his hands and right at that moment Stan rang the doorbell. He could just open the door with his keys, but they were, like, - “respecting each other’s privacy”. It’s like,- they were adults, and reasonable adults do that, they respect privacy of each other. If they are not Cartman, of course, who doesn’t give a shit about anyone’s comfort one bit.

“Dude, I brought beer,” claimed Stan, taking off his scarf and shaking snow off his boots.

“I’ve made ratatouille,” replied Kyle in the same tone. “And you’re going to eat it, buddy.”

“Did you make something?” Stan asked again. “Something disgusting?”

Grinning, he turned to face Kyle, and immediately the smile went down, and blue eyes widened. Kyle immediately remembered that he forgot to wear a turtleneck, to cover Cartman’s meaningful marks.

“Everything is fine,” he said a little bit too fast, “I’m fine.”

“Fuck!” Exhaled Stan. “Kyle, did you let him AGAIN?! Are you fucking around with him again? The fuck!”

“It was consensual,” said Kyle.

“What, fucking, consent?!” snapped Stan. “He was choking you! Tied up! I can fucking see it! How can anyone consent to that?!”

Stan was beautiful. One of the most beautiful people, that Kyle had known. Navy haired, blue eyed, a bit dark-skinned. Very beautiful. At some time, Kyle was in love with him platonically, and at other times - not platonically, but for his luck, Stan knew nothing about that. And for everyone’s luck,- Cartman was only suspecting that, and didn’t know for sure, otherwise Stan could’ve gotten hurt.

So beautiful, very positive Stan, could give Kyle nothing, except a friendship, of course.

Stan just couldn’t understand, how can anyone want anything weird to be done to them: to be choked and tied up, to be hit, or, well, slapped on the ass with a belt until blood runs out, to take slaps in the face, to be bruised, bit and chewed, humiliated, hugged tightly with words like _“one day I’m going to end you, ginger cunt”_. For Stan, all of this was plain cruelty, he was too good for things like that. And Kyle… well, he ended up as the poor sick pervert that he was.

That’s why he couldn’t break up with Cartman for three years straight, to end all of this ill, tempting, and crazy pleasure that was connecting them.

Three fucking years.


	3. 3.

“Cartman, go away!” exclaimed Kyle, standing at the front door, practically naked, in his creamy dense shorts and barefoot.

With all that, Kyle was slightly tucking his left leg up, making him look like a ginger and pale albino-flamingo. Cartman firmly shoved him by the shoulder and entered the house, taking off his coat. Kyle tucked his lips and frowned, but closed and locked the door nonetheless.

“My leg hurts,” he said, trying to remain calm and persuading. “I’m not in the mood for visitors. Go away, please.”

“I could give you a massage,” replied Cartman, looking at him. “Massage for an aching paw… or, if you'd like, a chest massage...”

“Thanks, but no,” coldly replied Kyle.

“Prostate massage?” subtly suggested Cartman “Stop your bitchin’, baby. I know you’ve missed me.”

“Get out!” snapped Kyle “Or I’m calling the cops!”

“O-oh!” stretched Cartman, narrowing his eyes. “I see our friend Stan Marsh messed with your brains again.”

“Stan... is only my friend,” Kyle objected. “He hates you. And I mean it, Cartman, get out, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Cartman nodded and calmly, with no rush, took his belt out of his pants. Kyle crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. It was hard to stand, but he didn’t want to lose his dignity.

“I’ll count to three,” he said. “If you won’t get the fuck out, I’m telling Stan about our secret. You know what I mean. And you’ll get jailed.”

“That’d be great,” nodded Cartman, smiling maliciously and throwing off his coat and an unfresh t-shirt to the floor. “We’ll be together in this, you’ll go as my partner in crime. We’ll have one cell for two and one comfy bunk. I’ll have all my time with you after holding back all these years.”

“Stan’ll help me get out scott free,” scoffed Kyle, unwillingly staring at the contours of the tattoos that could be seen through the shirt. “But there won’t be anyone to help you.”

“Well,” summed up Cartman, “I’ll have to kill you too, then. I’ll be the first one mourning the hardest at your funeral, sweety.”

“Asshole!” wholeheartedly said Kyle, flinching unwillingly.

He turned his back to Cartman and reached for the cellphone, that was in his coat’s pocket, hanging on the wall, and that’s when Cartman attacked him, momentarily appearing close to him.

Cartman never fought fair, he had no scruples whatsoever, always using some dirty trick. Kyle yelled, when Cartman pushed at his shoulders, making him stand on his two feet. Left one, that Kyle stretched in a gym, thrummed in a sharp pain. Kyle swayed, losing a second, which he could have used to his advantage. Of course, Cartman was bigger and stronger, but in the contents of a narrow hallway, fast and flexible Kyle would have had an advantage. _Would have._

Cartman sweeped the belt loop over his neck and yanked it back, blocking the air. Kyle grabbed the belt in an instinct of fear, breaking his nails, and tried to kick Cartman. He was turned on his side just in time, so the kick landed on his hip. It still hurt a lot, but Eric suspected, that the same hit at his balls, would make him double over, and Kyle would have slipped from his hands.

Kyle, suffocating, hissed from pain. Cartman immediately grabbed him under the knee and yanked it to the side, trying to slip in between his closing legs.

Kyle snapped his teeth shut, almost biting Cartman’s nose, and fell to the ground, buying himself some time. He started to crawl away on all fours in a hurry, gasping at the air hungrily, while belt’s loop loosened a bit, but then Cartman crushed onto him from above, pushing on his back with one knee and biting into the shoulder from behind. Kyle screamed. Cartman yanked the belt, tightening it again, turning the scream into wheezing.

In the pants pockets a hand cream was found. Eric, taught with experience, always carried one on him. He hastily pulled Kyle’s shorts down, ripping them at the right seam, he scooped a large portion of the hand cream and smeared it over Kyle's puckering, tight hole. Kyle moved for the last time, trying to escape the inevitable. Cartman shoved two of his fingers mercilessly inside, stretching that hot little hole, widening it and preparing the channel for himself. He then twisted his fingers around inside, while Kyle was scratching his hand and shoulder while huffing powerlessly. Clear drops started to run down Kyle’s erect cock.

“Stop with this stubbornness, you little bitch,” hissed Cartman, shaking him a little. “You want my Arian Dick so much, you’re leaking!”

Kyle yelped some incoherent exclamation, trying to close his legs, but Cartman tightened the belt loop further on his neck in return, aware of the dark mark, that will surely appear there. Kyle’s eyes rolled back and legs weakened.

“I’m wondering, on which day your Hebrew god made your jewish hole?” asked Cartman, rhythmically fucking tightening muscles with his fingers. “I gotta admit, that he surely did his best, though it’s only purpose is...”

He loosened the belt, and Kyle didn’t let him down:

“...to be pleasuring your Arian Dick?” he hoarsely, but sarcastically asked, turning around and almost hanging onto Eric. “What’s with that bullshit, Cartman? Which part of you is Arian?”

“You little naughty jewish bitch,” lovingly replied Cartman, pulling Kyle closer, grabbing him under his hips and lifting up, letting to sit on top.

Kyle hugged him by the neck, but grimaced.

“My leg really hurts,” he said, coughing. “Stretched it yesterday.”

“I’ll take a look at it later,” promised Cartman, holding Kyle in the air. “And right now, do what you’re supposed to.”

Kyle took a breath and sarcastically curved the eyebrow. His eye whites turned red a little bit, and a blood vessel exploded in the right one. On his neck the belt mark started to appear and near his

shoulder the bite mark became swollen. Cartman wished Stan fucking Marsh could have seen his buddy at the moment.

“ _Take a good look, Stan,”_ thought Cartman “ _I’m not making him, I didn't even push him. He's doing it all at his own will.”_

Kyle inhaled rising a bit, and then hastily, with hands shaking from greed and lust, undid Cartman's pants, freeing his solid sticking cock. He started to go down on it, helping himself to fit it inside.

“Good boy,” Cartman praised him, through his eyes, darkening from the sweetest he's feeling - Kyle was so tight, despite the preparation, and sickeningly, burning hot.

He then gripped Kyle firmly under his tights and shoved himself upward. Kyle moaned, hanging onto him, wrapping his arms around Cartman’s shoulders, clutching him with his whole body, that burned like a flame.

“Bitch,” said Cartman, holding him under his ass. “You could have called, you know?”

“Screw you!” scoffed Kyle, snuggling to his cheek. “As if I need you.”

For that Cartman pushed his back against the wall and banged so turbulently hard for a couple minutes, that Kyle started to shout constrained. His eyes rolled back, lips became swollen and spit collected at the mouth corners. Kyle tried to jerk himself off, but Cartman catched his hand, pining it to the wall behind him. Kyle looked at him with begging eyes, but when did Cartman ever surrendered to piteous looks?

“Eric,” pleaded Kyle, hugging him by the neck with one hand and clawing at the nape with his nails painfully with the other. “Eric, please...”

“I would eat you whole,” mumbled Cartman in his ear, crushing him into the wall and making him jump harder with each thrust. “I’d devour you completely, so much that I...”

“Kyle?” someone called from behind the front door with an old woman’s voice.

Cartman bit on his tongue. Kyle flinched. They’d stopped, glancing at each other with the same worry in each other’s eyes.

“Kyle Broflovski!” Repeated an old woman, standing behind the door. “I think I heard a noise.”

“Just great, you shouted her out of the house!” hissed Cartman. “And called for all the neighbourhood to hear!”

“As if I’m the only one responsible,” hissed Kyle in return, tightening legs at his waist.

“Kyle, do I need to call the police?” repeated an old woman tentatively.

“No!” immediately replied Kyle. “No, Miss.McDaniels, everything is alright. I... ”

Cartman, who liked how scared Kyle was squeezing tight and hot on his dick, started to slide him up and down carefully. He enjoyed it much better this way, each thrust became lingering and sensual. Cartman pushed against Kyle’s prostate each time, whose body was jolting each time he bucked into him hard. Kyle looked at him with powerless anger and clawed at his nape even stronger.

“I was just watching a movie,” lied Kyle, holding back from whining openly. “Accidentally turned it to a superfluous volume. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”

Cartman scoffed. _“Superfluous volume.”_ just think about it! This guy was getting his ass banged right against the wall and is about to come, but he’d never forget all of his double dutch gibberish.

“Stop,” whispered Kyle “Just stop, Cartman!”

Cartman threw him up even higher this time and bit onto his sickeningly hard and red nipple. Kyle smacked his head, but didn’t seriously tried to stop him. Or, maybe, he couldn’t anymore. He was a horny slut, and Eric had always known that well.

“By the way, Kyle, honey” said big ass mouthed Miss.McDaniels, who, apparently, just wanted to nag at the moment. “You have too much litter on your lawn, maybe you should clean it up?”

“Yes, Mrs.McDaniels,” in a fainting voice replied Kyle, “I will. Later.”

“Are you not feeling well? Why is your door locked?”

“What a pestering hag,” whispered Cartman.

Kyle nodded in agreement, snuggling him and breathing into his ear.

“No, Mrs.McDaniels,” he replied. “I just came from the shower, sorry.”

“Aw what I haven’t seen there before, young man!” she scoffed.

“Oh, hag,” said Cartman quietly. “I bet you haven’t seen something like this.”

He looked at Kyle playfully and asked:

“Maybe we can open a new horizon for the old cunt?”

“Don’t talk bullshit,” hissed Kyle. “And just stop already, god damn! I can’t do it like this!”

Cartman actually stopped, but Kyle couldn’t even take a breath, as Cartman turned him with Kyle's back toward himself, pushing him to the wall, making him to hold against it with his both hands. And then started to ram into him from behind, holding his hips. Kyle thought, that these obscene slaps of skin could be heard not only by Mrs fucking McDaniels, but by the entire neighbourhood.

“You are sure you are good, honey?” asked Mrs.McDaniels yet again.

Kyle bit down on his fist. Tears were streaming from his eyes and his leg stopped hurting, he was feeling too good. But he was afraid, that if he were to open his mouth, he’d totally say something he’s not expected to. He’d instead shout out something like “Oh, God, yes, fuck me harder! I’m almost there! Oh God, harder, yes!”

“Come on, bitch, tell her,” whispered Cartman, slapping his ass.

That asshole didn’t even think to stop, he’d only took the rhythm and thrusted hard and even deeper, almost crushing Kyle into the wall.

“Yes, Mrs.McDaniels,” babbled Kyle. “I’m good. Now if you'll excuse me, I would like to go back to my shower now.”

Cartman scoffed and approvingly patted his hip.

“Can I cum?” Kyle muttered weakly after couple minutes.

That sounded so touching and gentle, that Cartman almost came himself.

“Oh no, honey,” he replied insightfully, not even thinking about lowering his voice. “I’m going to fuck you ‘till you cum, as if you saw your fucking Ark of the Covenant!”

“Why are you such an asshole?” whined Kyle, blushing from arousal and anger. “Stop making fun of religion!”

“Oh you are right!” Cartman eagerly “Next time I’m fucking you in a synagogue. And then whenever you're going there, you'll think about how you were coming with my dick in your ass.”

“I’m not going to a synagogue,” snapped back Kyle. “And you know it. Shut up and let me come, stop with your gibberish!”

“Let me think?” Mumbled Cartman, greedily groping at Kyle’s hips. “We have a saturday tomorrow, right? Don't blowjobs count as breaking Shabbat?”

Kyle kicked him with his leg and tried to twist away, but Cartman held him tighter, hugging from behind… and almost jumped, when there was another knock at the door again.

“If it's that old cunt again, I’m going to snap her neck,” promised pissed off Cartman.

“Kyle?” Called a young woman’s voice. “Kyle, I was just talking to Mrs. McDaniels, and she is very worried. Are you ok?”

“Yes, Wendy,” unhappily replied Kyle, who was just never allowed to come. “I’m ok.”

Wendy went silent.

“You have a very weird voice,” she said. “Did you get sick or something?”

Then Cartman started to laugh quietly, then outstretched his arm and painfully pinched Kyle’s nipple, immediately starting to jerk him off. Kyle trembled, biting his lips.

“N-no,” Kyle squeezed out of himself, getting back some self control. “Wendy, everything is ok, really.”

She went silent again.

“You're with Cartman now, right?” she then said, knowingly.

“Yes,” Cartman said loudly. “He’s with me. In fact, I’m in him as we speak.”

Kyle even gasped and smacked his hand in anger.

“Hey, Cartman,” said Wendy. “All right then, I’m gonna go now.”

“Just don’t tell Stan anything,” asked Kyle. “He’s going to worry.”

“Alright,” said Wendy. “Cartman, mister Jigsaw’s claws are too long and he’s teething.”

“Got it,” replied Cartman, clumsily kissing Kyle behind his ear. “Bring the beast on tuesday. And now fucking get lost.”

“Rude!” scoffed Wendy, but left nonetheless.

“Eric, let’s go to my bedroom?” powerlessly asked Kyle. “I can’t handle any more friendly neighbours.”

“It’s so nice of you to ask,” grinned Cartman, but agreeing in his head, that it was a right time to change location.

He moved and spanked Kyle’s small ass possessively.

“Move faster, jew. We have an unfinished business.”

Kyle obediently started to hobble towards the stairs, and the way he did wasn’t looking good to Cartman. He even started to worry. So he caught up to Kyle, slinging him over his shoulder, ignoring weak attempts at resisting, and carried towards the bedroom, holding him by the ass.

 _“I’ll have to tip Kenny a ten,”_ thought Cartman, hugging sleepy and obedient Kyle. _“The poor shit did his job well.”_

Worn out Kyle was laying beside him quietly, snuggling his chest with his face, and that scene was very symbolic to a sense: the ginger jew was snoring right into the swastika, and his rusty bright curls, that were sparkling from sweat, tickled Cartman’s shoulder right where his big Celtic cross was beginning. After their screams and moans, the bed’s creaking and wet slaps, the silence in the room seemed so unnaturally fragile, almost chrystallic.

 

“I’ve got some info that might get you interested,” said Kenny with sparkling eyes. “Ten bucks.”

Kenny got himself comfy on an uncomfortable visitor’s chair, under a big poster, that showed the internal structure of a dog.

In the waiting room were some more special posters, but one of them belonged specifically to Cartman. And Kenny was looking at the empty, cold, snake-like green eyes of some ginger chick, with bare tits, wearing a cap.

That was the thing about Cartman, - not giving a single shit about anyone’s opinion, and pulling something like this even at work. What was interesting though, was how he managed to get away with this pornograpy, even if it's a light one, from society’s resentment?

“Depends, what’s the info about?” indifferently replied Cartman, washing his hands thoroughly. “And keep in mind, that my shift is over, and I’m leaving in five minutes.”

Kenny nodded, looking at his wide back, strained by the white uniform.

“Can I have some coffee?” he asked, waving at the coffee machine that stood at the end of the corridor, where visitors were usually waiting.

At the moment, the front doors were closed already, the vet clinic closed, and all the visitors left, but the machine still worked.

“Go ahead,” replied Cartman, pointing at the drawer of an open desk table.

Kenny snooped around in it, before finding some coins, and then stood in front of the coffee machine, while Cartman was changing.

“What’s the info?” asked Cartman lacking any interest.

“About Kyle,” replied Kenny. “Cash upfront.”

Cartman hummed, taking a ten out of his wallet and shoving it into Kenny’s hood.

“Asshole,” said Kenny, lacking any malice, trying to grab the munched ten. “I saw, when Broflovski exited the gym today, he was hobbling greatly.”

Cartman straightened suddenly, gripping a fresh shirt in his hand. Cartman was covered in black and gray tattoos; from his solar plexus down to the very belt of his pants, trailed a thick darkening line of curling hair. The pale light of a yellow lamp, the only one left on in the hospital, not including the coffee  machine and flashing road lights, that were casting sharp shadows onto Cartman’s burly form.

“‘Greatly’ how exactly?” he asked worryingly.

Kenny immediately started to mimic, and very naturally, a stumbling walk with one leg being dragged.

“Probably it was too long since you’ve visited him,” he said, grinning and pouting a lower lip mockingly. “Poor unfucked Kyle oversublimated on the orbitrek...”

Cartman silently snatched the cup out of his hand and emptied hot coffee on a startled Kenny’s head.

“What the...” almost cried out Kenny, flapping his blond eyelashes.

Cartman grabbed him by the throat and yanked him off of the ground so they were almost at the same eye level.

“This is not your fucking business,” he articulated with ringing rage in his voice. “Kyle and his fucking, is none of your business, you got that?”

“Yes,” exhaled Kenny, swinging his legs. “I got it.”

Cartman almost threw him back into the seat.

“Get out of here,” he said angrily.

Kenny sadly touched his wet nape. Then looked inside the empty cup longingly.

“You know,” he said, “Now I understand why at that time, Kyle threw you out just in one week. You have manners of a savage.”

“And one very fucked temper,” coldly replied Cartman, pulling over a huge shirt, as big as a sail. “Get out, while you’re still in one piece.”

Kenny resentfully tucked his lips.

“You know what, Cartman,” he said, throwing his hood over the head. “The next time you want to know where Kyle is or what’s happening to him, don’t call me, and get off your fat ass and check for yourself!”

He then wanted to leave dignifully, but Cartman grabbed him by the edge of an old, worn parka, and yanked back.

“Repeat,” he asked aggravated. “What did you just say about my fat ass?”

“You heard it!” replied Kenny.

His face was pale and bloodless. And eyes were pale-blue, almost colorless. In fact, Kenny’s looks were very similar to Kyle’s, though, he was very different. Except Kyle was lean, as a purebred hound, and Kenny was debilitated. Rare earnings weren’t helping him that much, and he was proved incapable of finding a real stable job. Cartman would also think, that he won’t find himself anything, given his unconditional hatred for people and society. And look where he is now. Some even call him a “doctor”. Doctor Cartman! Fuck! He’d laugh till blood and snot came out, if he’d knew how things would end up, when he were a kid.

“Want some coffee?” asked Cartman, letting go of the battered orange coat.

“On my head?” clarified Kenny. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Don’t be a sissy,” scoffed Cartman.

He shoved some coins into Kenny’s hand.

“Make me one too,” he said. “With chocolate and caramel.”

Kenny obediently went to fulfill the task. Cartman watched him and thought - _why did he have to fall for a stubborn and unruly Kyle, even though there had always been offering Kenny, who’s always ready for anything._

The attachment to Kyle was highly conflicting to Cartman's inner principals. Kyle was a jew, though an agnostic. Kyle was one of those people, whose face is better being beaten than being kissed. Kyle wasn’t obedient, and Cartman preferred submission.

“Hey,” called Cartman. “Can you suck?”

“Twenty.” immediately replied Kenny in a serious tone, not even turning his head. He was messing with the coffee machine, it interested him more than possible prostitution.

“And in the ass?”

“Fifty,” as imperturbable said Kenny. “And only with a condom.”

That was the source of the difference between Kenny and Kyle. Kenny was easy, while Kyle would have turned red and started screaming and cursing until he suffocated, maybe, he’d even try to start a fight. It was very interesting with Kyle, he had to be made obedient, broken, to pull out the sweetness and lewdness that was hidden there, in his sanctimonious hebrew soul. And there was plenty of that, who if not Cartman, was to know.

“Do I need to undress?” asked Kenny. “Let me just finish my drink first, ok?”

“Why the fuck do I need you?” scoffed Cartman. “Drink it and go. I can even get you a ride to the city center.”

“You gonna see Kyle today?” Kenny asked indifferently.

“Yup,” said Eric. “Going to check what happened to his paw. Maybe, he needs a doctor… with a big thermometer.”

Kenny grinned.

 

“Cartman,” said Kyle sleepily, as he sat up, scratching his hair. “Are you going to stay for dinner?”

Cartman reluctantly let him slip from the embrace, patting his hip in the process. Kyle had yet to learn, that there was a terrifyingly huge bruise growing at his shoulder, and Cartman could see this mark, and it filled him with a rightful pride of ownership.

“I’ll stay,” he agreed. “Just don’t cry.”

Kyle only sighed.

“You’re such a narcissistic, arrogant,and egoistic sow,” he said. “I’m sometimes wonder, how your over bloated ego is able to get through the door frames.”

“With your prayers, jew,” laughed Cartman.

Kyle smiled, taking the pillow and firmly smacked him a few times, Cartman wasn’t even resisting. Then Kyle put his legs down, stood up and stretched. After a caring calves massage and a tight bandaging he felt so much better.

“Get up, Cartman,” said Kyle. “If you think, that I’m going to serve you, you're very wrong.”

“I’m never wrong, because you're going to,” pointed out Cartman, but rolled out of the bed, dragging Kyle closer to himself and kissed his lips. “Hey, darlin’.”

“Hi, Eric,” replied Kyle, smiling shyly. “Actually, I’m glad you visited.”

“You could have called though,” Cartman reproached him again.

Kyle wrinkled his nose.

“As if!” he said, gently twisting away from the hug. “There is no way of handling you anyway, and you’ll become even more unbearable at that point.”

He smiled, then, catching Cartman off guard, lewdly and sensually licked the whole length of Celtic cross on Eric’s shoulder.

Cartman froze, completely stunned by the action, and Kyle fled to the kitchen, where he started to rattle with dishes, slamming the fridge door and click the oven’s handlers.

Sometimes Cartman would be presumptuous in thinking, that he knew Kyle completely. The last time he made that mistake, and it cost him his many-years plan of conquering one concrete jew. Cartman returned from his shift, to find all of his belongings being pedantically put outside, in cold. Kyle changed his keys, phone number, and erased Cartman from his life. All of that happened after just two weeks of living together!

Maybe, Cartman was too fast to open up. Or, on the contrary, he tried to make Kyle obey too soon, and he needed to act slower, smarter, subtler. All in all, sex did not solve all of his problems. In short, whatever it was, Kyle kicked him out and he had to start again from the beginning. For two whole months they were ignoring each other, then happened to cross paths and fought. Then they slept together. Then went to a cinema, where they fucked again, hidden in a male’s bathroom stall, and missed all of the movie. Then they fought again. And this was all going up and down, without any certainty, but now Cartman had grown enough to know one thing - a good hunter of a good pray requires a fortitude of patience.

“Cartman!” snapped Kyle from the dining room. “Bring your ass here immediately! How long do I have to wait!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the fanart for this fic by [this awesome artist](https://crazytom666.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [kyle](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/V5k8vmsgerBAXG--0Pu_OFAW-NuheBmDCLwQu14UL7DaJpjNUc_RwnGuuXN9XybwlOe64xFXZdnLnb7awc8rqadSP_oeYJLR2TZSYlSOkWW59cMUHhVwWBUv3GsIhfUfsPI2nJt7TwD6n1EFFXh8GQZTp1PBVfgVPVXgCfiq4zTwllUEM_3Qss7HjY8F_A-GjLw954IzxV167w5KnByqnIB4dnLKHcEexa6pgHchuf_tuceB-Uv81aRV6DyqcaTxNc-wG86LJnXCowgQLUo4HqdH82kGyNVWF91-VLNtmtQckFIiCxXt7XaoLEsZEUP4Iw1gAr0i3w7Wwev1EFCmml9og70g72EMFZU9Y2nDXDrqnTxEBE40ifQquw1WMBaVvQf-m-n_eVs3RiKNLnGEKipGD1OJcxe-oUve8yL6nMbGLNKHY2uPKUMB3qgQIMGlO_yr5HCxz8cfQeMzbYCC19oI3yY074OFSHSDvUZzEZ9nYcCuBl0Izc5UJiIzYgDklrpU0n5bZ0F5BGHOcZUAb3DcatgrUAfDJDMLVfHhQT7gmd1JLYl4qmoaQ1BcLzHD=w1920-h940)  
> [eric](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/jAulN8rmfzjS4stauG2ImF6ZIaOVPfmBTwW4RLvpr-JPPxWEN0HnTym1J-5IrJ_2KIJkbnpztMHKCE66aVL3g9NWi_4y4uoKQX_penPBuQvDbJ7ExlqXH3B6auolBoNzcdSRw7McI_bMCs_mPXpgbJJHWgmQZerkllqBrfNQWYV0SU0T95uNkSNoUkomuVRgeNexZw3w5jHO6C7taiU7f_TbGBAY-r4x_6yDujLzr90Be7YhhL354We4hV04fFohmWH4oijnL_0bvXzZYqMWXTDQku-YKQIMHb22cnsEnKFABGVsjoLqAjQxTtMxQwRTHmsWsn1FMPnyGqI0E-gPAk3A8mYnFrWInS4h0icUd7hc_SJXkXoGisoqBuTCwpGPpxZu9-3sHzi8f5gykAm-cavWX94E5_t8brCuklFMkNuDX6DzQ4Fu9sbnIYVWegPj3GGcjdzOnaQuVHTJ9VsHCbNBSnLOBuEdlj8g4ipAmqZW18YNqmyvKALpJRSB4LEqvP6RhlncD7rGP4fg6g4ABBrB8oojMYMD-D7RhHiwhymJBXJhHhAfFx8TASsK8QZb=w1189-h940)  
> [stan](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/vFTvzmrMlesc97EeVSea99Zu9Cyxd9IUP8HswGK8rM73HVG-XajgtZC7Own6p6MJivevW7m8QXoXfzZIj9UCFzVx3-vFamMMTRkM3RCyHm3L4xI6ks5_FOwENtdynfGfHIv7l4WG9pf7zZFwZFNhve4yt1LKIzYDUGHOP4feb7mI_hfI3FL0Fgugdhl9cF8BkQsiqa6blfBDxKLlyZrqtHzdOqzJxobQN0vNX7CV1HgoNl53SMHckQUb1Kpxh61UdByuqVNke9NbYpRsuYvF8Ep4PRLEvkwlR0mvosGLUH1HYFJUw_sCpQvlIIXb24ptRFUbRxAW-Drnv9_PJ4NbIdDMAmmWj5FS4zB7g4f7VaJy3R_2LaE92NRK2tXUP-VluTqJsLn5GvbLOupVeRJLz9TFImeQW2tWpa3fhuW8V3m9K-X33iilWHXrgIMZGkd1ifkZfEu1Z5X0hKlHl6_TShGChhyUPS7xElDQ5aSUXoSmV072o8HTSYbA0m5YKjyzsoSRSItbHg9o88PEVf5HL1pTjyiV8kDfQEZgm4XRphVAq2xvyTkE-0oS5PJD8fzV=w1189-h940)  
> [kenny](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/NEcvJWj-NyruM3AEdHaxQyVcU5KGVXwWGOCn87N4wJpo7FM4nQ4mrhEUabsl1Bz_QMT6UtSXRsLHNhgSNK_QyA7U9pa5Xelu-4ciGs3J-ovkhSQOwXqlRpDOBgKUNNXmSNtRSn2FjkwhPMBakD-fc_zSUB97WgoorsJSbmcgh_X4ncVfb8iNlXpZ6U6srdY5Z_FUukTtsCMiP5mxGTRltXFhA6tlWttFLYSYx6-wkguUNxvfzCfy9oSOiEOH-tRPc77QIyzjc7btCHSiX4cM4rDxxE_bA0ac7cYB3QgZ6Uv6pzO7iAWtf9xW1O-D3mawrcEjrHQa1gI2AykAormUyN_UvWH5rVyJicTDE2X-uZtkv4Zh3Cd8bkIRdg1_VbeM98am_Jouy9AQtjdZC0AJehS8ZL6EihZb6HqFy-Hrqu-6BD0TM3cqJ1hIlM3fgMtJ8RwLbLu6xcgoiioz0mkSqxfq6xcb5h3TFCIrv9r2KStnPFif4Sl5dCMoTTbGuWfjl_j6GZ_COFODqtyKsSRiNx9GEJtG2semeLGJ9hJ7allXdCvnx09HcKFX_h70pbZ4=w1920-h940)  
> [wendy](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/kQk59JyEsi8DayQxqQbEaeoUNkiNw6nJsbcNvQcgG_MMVJL00iQI0gkQZZF570scSkPc8FXAMha9IizVHlkjT8_uJ9pUlbqLUj7zyCw8cPm4NgUGIAfBLXjSsiNObsgQPRE-9tJhAIpVB4lVfffYKzRsTlW0kkTHEaxGGpXJE6buRIwEnWL67EVl41eRkbKx51P-qoA1JgJYZqztSK5wBNtuH1GDVFYhtoMsPG-y4THKz9NmbWr90JrmSNq5fYUgr2rr2oUOBPXRqGK9_qS0FEk9KH1lST2xf9Jx0vt1PebCIl74GkjGN0nGQFBDw1R2hjdWiD2XuxZK1APTzZjpATpaPEgglzaOwkA7qom3_KP84aPP878eFmeOeGcjGPDgWpQZc-C37ge1IdSnSs1AdvM4V5J1A9l14G01RtwI4ud0hgCIeUE8WMz4kODZC_Y3C7o77-oQK4EmAb6pvBADVZkfCb5WfHafaD_t_8zbUMkNxq0i-NL18Jxvd0ch2TCjTYf5Ke29s0yN7ayme6nj-zMfUQqhLVu_xv59fsb1dRMELlDEKhXLDO2bICVINBH8=w1189-h940)


	4. 4.

The work day started with one of Cartman’s patients dying. This always happened in his job, even if it's not as often, as some think. But patients die nonetheless, and usually, Cartman doesn't feel too sentimental as it comes to it,– he can't save all of them. But Bumper, a lively yellow bulldog, came to life with Cartman’s help, falling into his hands seven years ago, and now, these same gentle hands, were sending the dog into another world.

The fact, that Bumper had to be sedated, wasn’t any of Cartman’s fault, nor was it any fault of the crying owner either, if there was anyone to blame, it was the damned World Canine Organization, that approved a breed standard, thus securing the genetic predisposition of bulldogs to cancer and spreading this infection around the world.

Cartman had asked a crying lady to leave, but had stayed himself, deciding, that the dog - a good-natured and playful, with thick hanging cheeks, - deserved some warmth in his last moments. Even if Bumper was so different from his playful and good-natured self right now. Cartman gave him an injection, then sat beside him, getting himself right on the floor, and dragged the shaking from pain bulldog onto his knees, as if Bumper turned into a small, squeaky pup again.

“Good boy,” Cartman said quietly, patting dog’s ears. “You are a good boy.”

Bumper moved his snout and weakly sneezed, spurting hot snot and spit. His eyes were very tired and foggy from his sufferings. But he still licked Cartman’s hand. Cartman gently hugged the dog, listening to his breath, that started to become more faint.

“Sleep,” asked Cartman. “Good boy, sleep, everything is going to be okay.”

Bumper leaned into him. He was very hot, and his body, that used to be strong, neat, and big, became light and bony, skin hanging from the sides.

Dogs, that were being sedated, had all their muscles relaxed. But the job of a vet, – it's like that, it’s dirty. But with that, it’s much cleaner than any job with people. Cartman had met many clean and sleek scumbags, with pink nails and white shirts, these yuppie smelled of shit from a mile away. They had shit inside their very soul, that is much worse than any dog can ever have.

Bumper sighed for the last time and went silent. Cartman sat there for a few more minutes, stroking his big round head, then stood and wrapped the dog’s body in plastic.

Cartman suddenly wanted Kyle, not Kyle, he didn’t even think about that, he just wanted to go to Kyle. To lay his head onto Kyle's knees, just like the bulldog was lying a mere minutes ago, and gentle fingers to pat his head and scratch behind his ears. And, hopefully, to say that he’s good too.

Cartman had never seeked any kind of support from the ginger jew, but right now, he simply needed some friendly sympathy, and any others, as close friends, - Cartman didn’t have.

The work day, that started shitty from the very morning, was still going and going, leaving Cartman languishing. The urge to see Kyle turned into maniacal need. Kyle hasn't called for the second week in a row, and sometimes Cartman just wanted to know - when will this end? When Kyle would stop acting like a virgin and stop making up excuses, like “my phone mixed up contacts, Cartman, don’t flatter yourself, I didn’t call you”. Usually, Cartman didn’t think about that: "Take what is given" - an excellent principle, which very much facilitates life.

In the evening, after closing the clinic, Cartman hopped into the nearest store, grabbing a bottle of whiskey for himself and a bottle of wine for Kyle. He was totally going to come uninvited and stay the whole weekend in Kyle's big and comfy bed. He was already anticipating, how he would embrace Kyle, naked, warm, consisting simply from elbows and knees, covered in freckles and ginger hairs. And when he’d be wasted enough, then he would tell him about Bumper. Because that’s easier. And, maybe if he’s lucky enough, Kyle wouldn’t remember his moment of weakness.

Kyle opened almost immediately, as if he was waiting behind the door. He was smiling brightly, and his green eyes were sparkling. Cartman froze, completely not expecting this warm welcome. This was so unusual, that he went cautious in a moment.

“U-uh,” he stretched. “Darlin’, what happened? Are you really so happy to see me?”

Kyle immediately stopped smiling and grimaced.

“Ah,” he said displeased. “It’s just you...”

“And who did you expect?” Cartman wondered, shoving the wine bottle into his hands.

“I didn’t call you,” tensely said Kyle, trying to block the way. “Leave, please.”

“I came myself,” replied Cartman. “I need you, so don’t be a bitch and let me in.”

“Sorry, Cartman,” nervously said Kyle. “But I’ve got a work-related dinner, so you better leave.”

“Dinner,” nodded Cartman. “Sure.”

He looked at Kyle up and down, noticing a pretty tight-fitting shirt and seductive skinny light jeans.

“What are you doing?!” angrily exclaimed Kyle, when Cartman firmly shoved him with his shoulder and went inside the house.

“A work-related dinner, right?” Cartman asked with quiet fury, entering the dining room. “With candles?!”

The table was served with all that smart-fucked crap, that Kyle loved so much: always something with a french name, a salad, and on a very big plate.

“Cartman, this is none of your business!” stated Kyle, crossing his arms. “Yes, I have a date, but it doesn’t concern you!”

“What do you mean ‘doesn’t concern me’?!” exploded Cartman, because this day was ending as bad as it started, and it was too much. “What, fucking, date, Kyle?”

“A regular one,” replied Kyle, nervously licking his lips. “A civilised and a normal one.”

“With who?” Cartman asked, growing darker.

“You don’t know him,” replied Kyle, then took a couple steps back, when Cartman glared at him. “He’s my colleague.”

“Your colleague,” Cartman nodded to himself. “Just great. And how long were you dating behind my back?”

“I don’t understand this,” Kyle mumbled, blinking rapidly. “What did you think of yourself, Cartman? I can date whoever I want, as often as I want.”

Cartman, instead of answering, grabbed one plate from the table and threw it into the wall, right next to Kyle’s head, with such force that pieces fell apart like rain.

“What did I think about myself?” Cartman repeated. “What did I think?!” He smashed another plate, then caught his breath and said:

“We have a fucking relationship, you bitch! We have a long and fucking, stable relationship. That’s what I did think. So now, please, if you would be so kind, and explain to me, what did you think it was, bitch! What, fucking, colleagues and civilised dates?!”

Kyle looked at him for couple seconds with surfaced pity.

“Cartman,” he said gently, as if he was talking with a mad man. “Well, yeah, we fuck, and it’s fun, of course, but it’s not serious.”

Cartman went silent and simply looked at him, realising, that in a couple more seconds, he’ll simply choke Kyle to death.

“Don’t you remember, that none of our attempts came out right,” continued Kyle. “We didn’t last a week. I’m not against fucking around, but… you can’t live like that your whole life.”

“Eight years.” quietly said Cartman.

“What?” Kyle asked again, lifting his thin beautiful brows in surprise.

“We’re together for eight years,” repeated Cartman. “From the third course.”

“I beg your pardon,” Kyle grimaced. “You can’t be serious.”

Cartman really wanted to hit him. But Kyle was looking at him with such sincere perplexity, he wasn’t teasing, he actually couldn’t understand, what Cartman wanted from him. And, because of that, Cartman wanted to cry.

“So please, leave,” asked Kyle. “I still need to clean up the mess you made.”

“Are you fucking him?” Cartman inquired. “Are you fucking on the side with anyone? With anyone, that's not me?”

Kyle stopped and curved his lips.

“This is none of your business,” he said aggressively. “Cartman, we are not living in a disney fairytale, you know? And you're are surely not a white knight, and I’m not some kind of a waiting princess. Be realistic!”

Cartman silently stepped closer and hit him in the face.

He wasn’t proud of the action, of course, but the urge overwhelmed him. It wasn’t a fair hit, like the one during that fight, when he and Kyle were sorting things out. Things, that appeared to never exist. And that wasn’t the slap, that Cartman would usually use on a tied-up Kyle, helping him to come without using hands. It was simply a hit in the face, a hard and loud one.

Kyle stumbled back and almost hit the chair with his back. From his nose streamed red and bright blood, and his eyes widened so much, that almost all of it's green disappeared.

“You...” weakly muttered Kyle, painting the tips of his fingers in blood. Cartman had suppressed the urge to apologise. He wanted to say that he is sorry, but then thought, _what the fuck? He hit Kyle in the mug, but Kyle kicked him so hard right into his heart, and it didn’t look like he was sorry._

“No, I’m not fucking on a side,” Kyle suddenly said, trying to wipe off the blood. “We had a first date. And you ruined it. Well, thank you so fucking much. I was hoping to be a normal person for once. You are going to pay for this, Cartman. For every single drop of my blood.”

Cartman powerlessly fell on the couch, holding his aching temples with both hands. Kyle was still saying something in an angry voice, he was threatening him and more, and Cartman’s head was buzzing.

_“Thirty,”_ he was thinking. _“I’m thirty and Kyle is too. And for fifteen years straight I've chased after him. That's half of my whole life. And each time, when I think, that I’m close enough, and we’re going to be something, he kicks me out again. It seems like, I’m getting too old for this. When will I learn this?”_.

“Cartman?” called Kyle. “I beg you, leave. Don’t cause me any more trouble. We will discuss this later.”

“Uh-huh,” replied Cartman looking at Kyle thoroughly.

For the first time in many-many years, if not for the first time in his entire life, he looked at Kyle distantly and objectively: skinny, cute and young ginger jew. A long curved nose. Almond-like green eyes. A capricious mouth with tight, tenacious lips. Pretty, but troublesome. In fact, nothing unusual.

“Cartman!” sharply said Kyle and snapped his fingers in front of his nose. “Come to your senses and get out!”

“You’re such a bitch,” said Cartman with bitterness.

“Look at yourself!” Kyle immediately replied, clenching his fists belligerently.

At the tip of his nose was a red thick drop hanging, but his cheeks were white from disturbance and eyes glowed with a sickened light. Cartman stood and pulled at his coat.

“May you live happily ever after, fag!” he grumbled, then left.

Kyle smashed the door so hard after him, that it seems, the plaster fell down from the ceiling.

Only when he was in his car, Eric had realised, that the bottle of whiskey was inside his pocket the entire time. He forgot to take it out. He should have taken it out and smashed it on Kyle’s head.

“Hey, guys,” said Cartman, getting comfy on the edge of the cliff with hanging legs above the fucking abyss.

He wouldn’t risk doing it in the summer, sitting like this on the edge of an abandoned canyon, next to some trash, but during winter all this shit froze anyway, so Cartman fearlessly sat between an old sofa, which still had some green cloths of material left, and an overturned broken fridge, that some slob and a goon didn’t utilise, as he should have, but quietly left on this dump. The company was perfect, very suitable for his mood.

Cartman tore off the cap from the bottle and drank straight from it. He immediately stopped to shake. He didn’t even noticed, but he, apparently, was shaking slightly on the way to this fucking canyon, where he, once ruined the lives of others, and his own too, for the sake of an ungrateful ginger whore.

“Fuck!” he barked, hitting the side of a fridge. His fingers spasmed in pain. Cartman generously splashed some whiskey on them and gulped from the bottle some more.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said to a poor crusty fridge. “No grudges, right?”

Somewhere below, beneath his legs, under piles of fresh trash, snow and some other shit, still layed three bags. Cartman didn’t even remember the names of those guys. But he remembered exactly how Kyle looked, when all of that happened.

Kyle said:

“ _Eric, no!”_

Or:

_“Eric, don’t!”_

Something like, _“Eric, this won’t bring you peace”_ , and his green, almond-like eyes were almost screaming something different:

_“Kill them for me,”_ asked Kyle with his gaze. _“Do it for me”_.

Cartman sighed. He did, what Kyle asked him to. In the end, he had always done exactly what Kyle asked him to. And look, fucking look, where it fucking got him!

Cartman simply looked into the emptiness beneath his legs for some time. It was unlikely, that someone would someday search this old dump. But he, to be honest, fucked up greatly in his youth and inexperience. He should have wrapped the bodies into blankets and cover that with tape, so there would be no trace left, like, only a couple of bones and shredded cloth.

And in a bag, bodies could be stored for long, Cartman wouldn’t wish even a foe to open those bags, but nonetheless, all the teeth are in there, just find the dental card - and case is solved.

_“Interesting,”_ thought Cartman, feeling wasted, - it was very easy to do, when it's this cold, “ _how long does it take, when you're flying, and does it hurt to fall?”_

He dangled the leftovers of a whiskey in the bottle, making a last gulp, leaving some at the bottom, he then took a swing and let the bottle fly. He listened closely, wouldn’t it tinkle somewhere below but, apparently, it fell into the snow.

“This is for you, guys,” drunkenly said Cartman. “I’m sorry it ended up like this.”

He stood, wobbling and clutching onto a battered sofa, realizing, that the fall into an abyss could become much more real for him, than he would have wanted. Slowly, step by step, Cartman walked away from the edge and plodded to his car.

It was already late. Everyone, anyone who could notice, anyway, was at home, Cartman was driving slowly, almost at a turtle’s speed. Broken knuckles were thrumming with pain in the warmth.

Right now would be the perfect time for Stan Marsh to appear in a patrol car, to top off this great day, and then the only thing left would be to hang yourself. There wasn’t just a ticket for such thing - this was a full-fledged trouble.

But, apparently, Cartman has reached the limit of his monthly misfortunes, because he got home without any more adventures, automatically parking his “Grand Cherokee” in the garage and turned to the kitchen.

At least, his pets were happy to see him, even his python in a terrarium turned his head, when usually, he didn’t give a single shit for Cartman, and everyone else. That python loved only white decorative mice, and far from a platonic love too. Cartman habitually fed his whole zoo, then plopped on a sofa, putting his legs onto the armrest, and closed his eyes.

The ceiling was a spinning vortex, causing nausea. Cartman’s hand was being interestingly poked by a cat’s wet nose. And from the other side, a dog was happily panting into his hip.

Cartman was thinking, which way he should crawl towards the bed, not to knock down or break anything on his way, and right at this time, someone knocked hard and demanding onto his front door, so he jerked and woke up immediately.

And there was Kyle at the doorstep, in an unbuttoned coat, with a sticking wine bottle in his pocket, which, actually, had been brought to him by Cartman. Kyle looked disheveled and flustered, with sparkling eyes.

“Well?!” he snapped right from the doorstep. “Are you happy, asshole?”

“What?” asked Cartman, who felt empty immediately.

Kyle was still wearing that blood-stained shirt and sexy light jeans. Kyle was very beautiful, the anger always suited him, making his face look revived.

“Are you happy with yourself?” asked Kyle. “You’ve ruined my date! Why do you always have to interfere with my life?!”

“Get fucking lost, heeb,” muttered Cartman in a tired voice, feeling his previously dying rage starting to boil again, boil in a bad way, which could lead to some disastrous consequences.

Kyle wobbled.

“You’re a scum!” he said, pointing at Cartman with his finger.

The movement was blurry and seemed pretty drunk.

“You are no match for Jack!”

Cartman was silent, crossing his hands on his chest, just so he wouldn’t cross them on Kyle’s neck. He also became suddenly curious, about who that _‘Jack’_ was, - so he could smother him too.

“You’ve embarrassed me,” Kyle said viciously. “I had to make up excuses in front of that pushover. That whole dinner was a total failure.”

He missed looking straight at Cartman, but then managed to focus.

“You’re ruining everything you touch!” he exclaimed, poking Cartman with his finger. “And me too. I was better, until I started messing around with you, and now I’m embarrassed even in front of my neighbours! And Wendy too!”

“She doesn’t care,” replied Cartman. “And your neighbours don’t too. Do you really think that they still didn't have a clue that we were fucking?”

Kyle was nodding, concentrated on something else, not even listening.

“I should have turned you in that time,” he said. “You would have been sitting in jail for the murder of three and not out here, ruining my life.”

Cartman felt himself jolt. He couldn’t hold himself, grabbing half-empty wine bottle from Kyle’s coat, and crashed it into the wall, regretting, that he can’t crash the ginger’s head the same way. Kyle gasped and covered his face with his hand, but somehow a piece flew towards his cheek, leaving a scratch, the wine splashed onto his shirt and painted the doorstep in dark-red spots... like blood.

“Get the fuck out of here, dickhead!” barked Cartman. “Get the fuck out, while I’m holding myself back.”

If Kyle would have just left, maybe, everything would turn out differently, but Kyle was too angry and riled up, and overpowered by adrenaline.

“And what would you do?” he asked сontemptuously, throwing his narrow face up to the light. “You’re quivering over me, you can’t do shit to me, Cartman! You think you love me… well maybe you do, with your sick, perverted, pitiful parody of love!”

Upon hearing those cruel and mocking words, Cartman felt everything he saw turn red. Instead of answering, he grabbed Kyle by the collar and dragged him inside, smashing him into the wall with such force, that Kyle felt his legs fail him. Kyle looked at him dumbfounded, trying to free himself, but his movements were slow and diffused, it seems, he hit his head too hard. Cartman dragged him by the scruff of his neck to the bedroom, automatically stepping over the intrigued cat, then threw Kyle onto the bed and shut the door.

“C-cartman,” muttered Kyle, finally realising, that he had lost, playing with fire. “You...”

Cartman flung him onto his back in a throw and gave him one loud and hard slap. Kyle fell back, crying from the sudden movement, and while he was struggling to turn back, Cartman freed him from his pants and coat.

“Cartman, I don’t want to!” weeped Kyle, staring at him with his green, shifty eyes.

“Who the fuck here cares what you want, whore?” Cartman said in a strained voice.

He crashed down from above, grabbing Kyle’s throat and squeezed so hard, that Kyle arched. Cartman was holding Kyle, ignoring the fingers that were clawing at his face and shoulders, until he stopped wiggling his legs and relaxed.

“Bi-i-itch,” hissed Cartman, seeing the now half-conscious Kyle can’t escape. “You were saying, ‘a pitiful parody of love’? Well, I can do it like this, you bitch!”

Kyle hoarsely inhaled and tried to reply, but Cartman slapped him right in the face again, making him shut up. Tears started running down Kyle’s face.

All the pain that has been swashing at the pit of Eric’s soul, everything that he’s been holding back all these years, not able to fully accept it, now finally surfaced. He had nothing to lose at this point, that’s why he tore Kyle’s shirt, using it to tie his hands together by the wrists, and hastily looked inside the drawer.

“Why do you need this?” Kyle hoarsely whined, noticing the sparkling square of a rubber at the edge of an eye.

“You’re a dirty whorish scum.” he replied coldly, towering over him. “The fuck knows what I can catch from you.”

Kyle’s lips trembled.

“What are you saying?” he asked weakly. “What do you allow of yourself?!”

Cartman turned him onto his stomach, not saying one word, grabbing the ginger hair on his head, and pushed him into the pillow, face first. He held him like that for couple seconds, until Kyle stopped convulsively shaking.

“If you don't shut your goddamn mouth,” promised Cartman, turning him onto his back again. “I’ll tear your tongue out, got it?!”

Kyle was about to open his mouth, but all he saw in Cartman’s eyes was darkness and barbaric rage, something, that made him shut up obediently and nod. Cartman quickly put on the condom. Despite the complete mess of his feelings, he had a massive hard-on. Scared Kyle, with a cracked lip, a scratch on his cheek and, - finally! - the look of submission in his eyes, was only contributing to his increased feeling of arousal.

“Wait!” Kyle whissed, with a frightened yelp, when Cartman threw his legs apart in a shove and fit himself in between. “I need… I have to...”

“Say thanks to the lube on a rubber,” said Cartman unkindly. “And I’m done with your chattering, kike!”

He grabbed Kyle under his knees, pulling onto himself, and thrusted in with force, feeling the dry resistance of the body. Kyle screamed, and tears started to stream again, as his expression became so full of suffering, that Cartman almost came. Kyle couldn’t scream for long, around his neck was a blue necklace forming, it was painful to even breathe, but he still squinted and weeped hoarsely.

“Eric,” suddenly mumbled Kyle. “Eric… stop. Don’t.”

“You motherfucker!” lashed out Cartman. “What, fucking, _‘Eric’_ am I to you, heeb?!”

He pinned a kicking Kyle to the bed, bending down and bared teeth at his throat. He got frightened himself, realising, that it was a bit more than just a bite.

Kyle started to yell wildly with his wrecked voice, and there was bloody and deep bite wound, with hollows from canines.

_“I should not literally chew up this idiot to death”_ , Cartman fleetingly thought.

He firmly flipped writhing Kyle onto his stomach, grabbing at his tossed hair and pulling it backwards, making him arch, and then continued with pleasure. Kyle was howling short with each thrust, and this howl was so arousing to Cartman, that he bit Kyle's pale shoulder again, all covered in freckles, but not holding back this time. There was a coppery taste at his tongue. Kyle was screaming, holding onto the pillow. He didn’t even tried to defend himself. Maybe, he was too scared, to even think properly.

“What was it - that you were saying a while ago, Kahl?”  Cartman said in a sweet voice, slamming Kyle into the bed with powerful and hard thrusts, and simultaneously bending him backwards. “That I won’t do anything to you? Is that what you were saying? That I, like, love you, or some other high-moral bullshit like that, huh?”

Kyle, of course, couldn't reply coherently, he simply bellowed and tried to twist away in a futile attempt. And then, Cartman had noticed one interesting thing - Kyle, despite that he was surely horrowed, had a hard-on. He was even leaking from the tip of his urethra. Cartman grinned:

“Appears, you’re a natural whore,” he purred, feeling, how sweetly and fucking greatly Kyle was squeezing with his tight, unprepared hole. “You just want to get a cock in your ass, right, Kahl?” Kyle shaked his head in disagreement. Well, he tried to, but his head hung powerlessly, and ginger hair fell onto his tear-wet cheeks.

“You haven’t walked too far from an animal yourself,” hissed Cartman, with a brute force, arching Kyle again, so his spine cracked. “Cheap, stupid hole! Subhuman!”

Kyle whined. Cartman bit into his shoulder yet again, savoring a coppery taste.

“I can’t hear your gratitudes!” snapped Cartman. “I can’t, fucking, hear your gratitude, bitch, for going down on you! Say it now, so I can hear! Well?!”

“Thank you,” whispered tormented, stupefied Kyle, shaking in his hands.

“Louder!”

“Thank you!” hysterically yelled Kyle.

“More!” barked Cartman. “I didn’t give you permission to stop, bitch!

Kyle started to repeat, as if he were a machine, wheezing and screaming loudly, when Cartman hurt him too much. From the thrusts, he half-rolled off the bed, hanging solely on Cartman’s hard grip.

And when Eric let go of him, Kyle fell on the floor, barely putting a hand to his face in time.

He suddenly heard a weird noise, almost alien and unnatural. To be honest, everything that was happening was unnatural, and Kyle felt himself losing it. However, it was really a weird sound - Kyle opened his eyes, and to his complete horror he saw, that there was a dog by the door, watching them. The back legs were lying on some weird trolley… with wheels. Probably, his dog was half-paralyzed.

Kyle suddenly thought, that he, himself, maybe, will need such a wheelchair too, if he survives, of course. Cartman seemed to finally lose it. Flipped completely. He never acted this cruel ever before.

And when Kyle almost thought, that it couldn’t get any worse, because he just couldn’t imagine that - Cartman got ahold of his hair again, and pulled back with such force, that Kyle arched and bit his tongue with snapped teeth. Cartman bucked into him with full length, so painful and rough, that Kyle had realised - one more second, and he will come. Will simply come without using his hands, not even touching himself. There he was, - a poor, pathetic fucking pervert.

Cartman harshly pulled his dick out and threw Kyle by his hair onto the bed, hastily rolling off the rubber, moving his hand along his length a few times and grit his teeth, coming on Kyle’s face. Kyle inhaled rapidly, his head fogged, he reached for his own cock, but Cartman grabbed his wrist with such force, that he almost broke it.

This final pain broke Kyle completely. He shook, trying to cover his shameful, disgraceful orgasm, falling onto the side, because his ass hurt with a dull continuous pain.

But what Kyle surely didn’t expect, jolting again and again in spasms, a hot stream of piss on his face. He froze, opening his mouth in shock and horror, as Cartman, not stopping, grabbed his jaw with a force of almost dislocating it, and finished there, shaking off last drops.

And that's when the second wave of orgasm hit, and striked with a great force, almost making Kyle lose his conscience, suffocating, wheezing, coughing, swallowing spit and salty bitterness, covered in sperm and piss.

“Look at you, pathetic scum,” with a mock said Cartman, squeamishly moving away from him. “You came like a natural whore. And which of  us loves with a _‘sick parody of love’_?”

Kyle didn’t respond. He was sitting there, slouched on a side, curled in a ball. Completely stupefied, wet with piss, and drying sperm on the face. He couldn’t think clearly, so much everything got out of his usual life, was throwing him beyond all the boundaries.

“Get out of here,” ordered Cartman, getting out of a messed up bed. “Get lost, scum. I don’t have any change for you, my apologies.”

Kyle blinked dumbly. He couldn’t sit straight anyway, still turning on a side, that’s why he was looking at Cartman with a helpless, almost maddened gaze. He was waiting and hoping, that Cartman will exchange his anger to mercy, to forgive, console and comfort him. At least hug him…

Cartman bared his teeth, almost like a wild animal, then grabbed Kyle’s ginger hair again and dragged him, naked and hobbling after himself.

The cat, of course, rushed to his legs, but Cartman automatically stepped over him, pushing shaking Kyle on a doorstep and kicked, so that Kyle fell head over heels from the steps into the snow. Then Cartman threw his clothes out and shut the door.

He returned into the bedroom and stopped at the door frame. A messed up blanket rolled to the floor, following a pillow. On the mattress darkened colorful spots, white-ish and red - from blood, and other fluids - from his own piss. Cartman jolted, grabbing the mattress by the edge, and dragged it from the room to the backyard.

That was a good mattress, - an orthopaedic, hypoallergenic one. When Cartman bought it, he still hoped, that Kyle would sometimes stay the night. That was the reason he bought it - so Kyle would like it. Well… judging from how that ginger whore was coming here, leaking on it - he indeed liked it.

_“In the morning,”_ thought Cartman, getting himself on a sofa in the kitchen. _“In the morning, I’m burning the mattress to fucking ashes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the fanart for this fic by [this awesome artist](https://crazytom666.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [kyle comes to eric's place](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/P4w7ule_4df2R-v7pdmuRUUEQEuzPqIadlOcvBmTRc2i5PVAZ3hB0i0UzCWz_Y1XO2ZPHAl7Tgr6xloVAYG0HmA0yeR_Opz2sYWfyVJ_gkPk-XrXqTytNSiHVPc6nuRKcSaSGGRqj-l4vw-NQaJpg6XDLF20tKHOHD0Q3-q_cZngNiwqFl-croiETJO38XXjxvJcQn19ocuEYTyQhPTjAfyQDboQQ3H1fL-PZtnPqyAz7dGPQ7bh2QZka9pewtg0DObRa4Fadbgh74An7bFP4lgXPxFrhlOUBoZx7KVHLoQkXinx9fZ7eS3LikxpZuR6gj1cZBwq2XiAri3oAoz6nLxQgHYkB5-vZm5NYgQTQDQwAVvD2QYH_koZCuYHWvI16JraQx9X4Zy2tWnBb6kC8yuLTqqnzyOaBf_mx7TxS8PFU6TcXx3wE84BTWSa-0j31m1lx9RY-MCS8EZSs-S_rACXUp8ryUWDBKkXyuNwvjOb2jaI4t6Ogv0viSai0z2IMwWEWmQixIYYMqHMbM0AMLkg3Rti2zy2xhJyOU6obedXMYH2lolJpe7k2XfkS9YcgXkUNsb5t9DVP7BZZQeH-lIumJeXe6QH=w1920-h940)  
> 


	5. 5.

The message came the same second, when Cartman had finally finished washing his hands, scrubbing the dried bloody bits from under his nails, closed the shower and reached for the towel. Cartman cursed and hastily wiped his hands, hoping, that he wasn’t called to some damn forsaken place for an emergency. The weather was certainly not suitable to be riding back and forth behind the town, there was a blizzard outside.

But that was a message from Kyle. Cartman leaned onto cold tiled wall and caught his breath, clutching his phone.

Three months ago, standing in the backyard and watching the dying mattress in fire, - the squeaking bed springs, freed from mattresses fabric captivity, Cartman moved Kyle’s number into blacklist. The next two months of this horrific, longing separation fused into some continuous alcoholic-working haze. Cartman was tirelessly working himself, and when he wasn’t working, - he was drinking and refreshing his tattoos from time to time, feeling, as if he’ll go insane at any moment now.

He missed Kyle, - he wanted to see him, he wanted to kill him, he wanted to apologize, wanted to fuck Kyle again, wanted to confess his love to Kyle, wanted to bury him alive, somewhere behind the city line. Wanted to both be with Kyle forever and to never ever see him again.

In the end, Cartman gave up and moved Kyle’s number back into his contacts. He also asked his one friend, who had one very sick but very favorite cat, - to do him a favor. The girl was working at the local branch of a mobile operator, that’s how Cartman almost instantly got himself the sad report - Kyle haven’t even once tried to contact him, he didn’t message him or anything.

After that evening Kyle, apparently, came to his senses, realising, what kind of shit he got himself into, and that he barely made it, miraculously survived, because Cartman really wanted to kill him.

Eric got so drunk, he had a hangover for a week, almost letting himself fall off the wagon. He shouldn’t have had let go of Kyle. He really should have had torn his throat out or smother him. Or, he should have fucking broke his legs, and tie to the bed. No, he should have chop his damned legs off, and, probably hands too, Cartman knew well how to amputate unnecessary paws, and chain him to the bed and spoon feed him for the rest of their life. Then, maybe, he will be at ease.

And it got only worse like this. Cartman knew well how to heal animals, and a little on how to heal people. But how to heal his own broken heart, - he didn’t know where to start.

 _“Eric,”_ wrote Kyle in his message. _“Come to me, I really need you.”_

Cartman quickly looked at his watch, then grabbed his coat and rushed to the car. He tried not to smile, but was catching his lips stretching into a grin from time to time anyway. Cartman felt his insides sing, and his stomach spasm in a knot from happiness, - Kyle actually called for him.

Three fucking months of mental sufferings and alcoholic haze! For three months they were separately licking on their wounds, that they’ve delivered to each other. But Kyle called him. Called him after all.

Cartman was ready to apologise to him. Cartman was ready to promise anything, and do anything Kyle would ask of him. He missed Kyle so much, that his fingers were going numb, had he started to imagine, how he will embrace and hold Kyle’s ginger head tight to his chest. Cartman was dying to fondle Kyle by the cheek, to kiss his cheekbone, to caress him and feel the touch of rough thin lips. He wanted to say to Kyle, that everything, that he was saying that night - it was from anger, just in-raged-bullshit, and nothing more.

Kyle’s car, “Volkswagen Golf”, wasn’t anywhere near the house, the garage was closed. Cartman parked his “Grand Cherokee” near a snow-covered lawn, getting a little on the kerb, pulled at his coat with a thought, crossing his mind, that he, probably, should have bought Kyle a bottle of wine. Something, that he’d like - sour, dry, and with regalías of some french manufacturers. They will drink, talk, then make love. Slowly and with no rush, absolutely vanilla. The way Kyle would like it.

“Kyle?” called Cartman, knocking on the front door.

It opened surprisingly easily. Cartman entered the hallway, automatically knocking off snow from his heavy boots.

“Kyle?!” he called louder, feeling, that there was something wrong in this ringing quietness and the smell of abandonment. In the sun rays, the dust pieces were dancing slowly. Kyle’s house looked abandoned and a little bit neglected, as if no one was living here or, well, if they were living here, but not at home for long intervals of time.

Cartman closed the door behind himself, and turned to the living room, and almost jumped, when, from the couch, rapidly rose Stan Marsh.

“Where is Kyle?” asked Cartman, not even bothering himself with greetings.

“Working, probably,” Stan replied, narrowing his blue eyes. “Where else could he be? He practically lives there now.”

It was unfair, but Stan was beautiful, to Cartman’s great irritation. And also, he very strongly suspected, that Kyle was leaking over Stan for couple years, until Stan got happily married. However, Stan Marsh was one hundred percent heterosexual, positive and boring to an Olympic degree. For Kyle, he was useless, just like a pretty picture of a hamburger for a starving man.

“Kyle...” started Cartman, but was cut off by Stan:

“And you here, breaking into someone else's house, I see. Not good, Cartman, not good.”

Cartman stared at him, and right before his suspicions were able to complete the picture, someone sneaked behind him, strongly hitting his head with a rubber baton.

Cartman exhaled with a groan and fell to his knees. His ears buzzed and he instinctively twisted, missing the next hit, but he didn’t expect that there would be two attackers. Cartman used to be in a situations with police, like this one, before, but at that time, he was ten years younger and really breaking the law. He didn’t expect, that something like this would happen at Kyle’s house.

Stan was standing at the distance, with crossed hands on his chest, looking closely, as his aides were messing up Cartman with their legs. Cartman got one in his face, but managed to twist away from a kick to his kidney. However, that didn’t do him any good, because when he tried to stand up, Stan grabbed one of his sidekick’s baton, and skillfully hit Cartman behind his knees. And when Cartman fell down again, knocking down a heavy coffee table, with all the stuff that was on it, Stan started to kick him with his boots anywhere he managed to reach, that fucking hurt as hell.

Three on one - that was not only very unfair, but simply unjust, so Cartman, enraged, grabbed one of the guys by the legs and dragged down, managing to hit him in the head on a fallen coffee table.

“Great,” said Stan, towering over him with a thrown back baton. “Breaking and entering with burglary, resisting during arrest and attack on the officer of the law. Oh Cartman, you’re in so much trouble now!”

“Fuck you!” growled Cartman, wiping at the sweat and blood, dripping from his broken mouth. “Fucking bitch!”

Stan nodded to himself and crashed down the baton again.

Cartman’s temples burst in a hot pulsing pain. He lost all spatial orientation and got to his senses only, when he was being dragged outside, when his hands were being tied up with tight police binders, and he was taken out of the house by the snow, to the parked police car right around the corner. Cartman rushed to the side, realising, that he should not let himself being shoved into that car, but Stan knew him for his whole life and, probably, was expecting something like this. He caught Cartman by the shoulder, almost dislocating it, turning to face him and threw a punch at his face so hard, that Cartman thought somehow, miraculously, he didn’t have to pick up the whole top level of his teeth from off of the ground. But his mouth immediately filled with blood, and gums ached.

“Isn’t that fucking amazing, - beating someone who is tied up?” wheezed Cartman, spitting blood in the snow. “You get it now? A good job for someone like you.”

“Fuck you, Cartman,” Stan replied coldly. “Your tricks don’t work on me. You’re getting yourself into the car, like a good boy, or I’m breaking your arms.”

Cartman bared teeth and spit again, but this time - on Stan’s boots.

“Fuckhead,” he sighed, hitting Cartman’s solar plexus, making him double over in pain.

In the police station, Cartman received some more hits to the ribs from Stan. Beating someone, who was tied to the grid, had turned out to be quite easy. Cartman had thought, that if he survives, - he’ll try it out too. He could tell the joy of it just by looking into Marsh’s sparkling eyes. It seems, he acquired the taste of the sweet satisfaction, beating someone who can’t fight back.

“When will you finally fuck off and stay away from Kyle?” Stan asked, giving Cartman some time to take a breath. Cartman coughed and spat blood. His whole body hurt, but he can endure it. Judging from Marsh’s blue and bitter eyes, their heart-to-heart talk had only just began.

“How can I fuck off from my favorite bitch?” hissed Cartman, struggling to breathe from pain in his ribs. “Did you lose most of your fucking mind?”

Stan shook his head and started to beat him again. At some point, Cartman fainted briefly and hung on his fastened hands, but Stan took a cup of hot water out of the cooler and poured it on Cartman’s back, holding his collar with a mocking caress, making him regain consciousness.

“Bi-itch!” growled Cartman, twisting in pain. “You’ll pay me for this, you dickhole!

Stan only shook his head in reproach.

“Cartman,” he said benignly, crouching down closer to him, Cartman tried to move away, but he also didn’t really feel like hanging on his wounded wrists.

“If I didn’t know you from the childhood,” trustfully confessed to him Stan. “I would have kicked you out of town, face first into the snow. Probably, beaten up half-dead.”

 _“Interesting,_ ” thought Eric. _“The fucker guessed or Kyle blabbed?”_.

“But we used to be friends,” Stan muttered thoughtfully. “That’s why I don’t really know, to be honest, what should I do with you. You’re making Kyle sad, Cartman. And I’m sad, because Kyle’s always upset and bruised. That’s not normal.”

“I haven’t seen Kyle for three months,” said Cartman, spitting with blood, that continued filling his mouth. “I have nothing to do with his bruises.”

Stan’s face distorted in revulsion.

“You’re a lying, you cowardly scum,” he said contemptuously. “You’re just shit on a road, Cartman. You’re not worthy of Kyle, and I’ll make sure that he understands that.”

“More likely, that I’ll fuck your pretty wife so hard, she’ll understand her loss,” Cartman laughed, wheezing, expectantly receiving more hits in the mug.

“You’ll stay here,” Stan finally decided. “I’ll think about what I should do with you.”

Cartman just glared at him, breathing heavily. Stan took all change from his pockets, his mobile and locked in the safe. Then closed and locked the cell, clanging with keys. Cartman could have told him, that people, who desperately need help, are calling on that phone… but he would never grovel to Stan Marsh.

Stan was walking in and out, not paying attention to Cartman anymore, he was drinking coffee and smoking. Sometimes, he would have a fun laugh with someone on the phone. Couple times, he drove somewhere, but was back pretty soon. In fact, no one was paying any attention to Cartman, even though he saw most of these people at his office, even if very briefly. He was healing their animals when called, and they were coming to him too. And now, everyone ignored him, as if he was an empty spot.

Cartman ruffled up, trying to keep the warmth, since he couldn’t zip up his coat.

He felt feverish from hunger and rage, his head was spinning madly from exhaustion and pain. There was a lot of blood on his jeans, but it all dried out as a hard crust. His teeth ached and his face was shoot with a sharp pain, if Eric was to turn it ever so slightly.

 _“Interesting_ ,” he thought, “ _does Kyle even know?”_ \- Maybe, it all was his idea? His thoroughly coordinated, well-planned jewish revenge? Kyle is pretty smart, to lie low and then serve this cold dish.

And just as he dozed off, managing to get away from the dull pain, shooting through his whole body, he got to hear the answer to his question.

“Stan!” someone in such familiar voice called, that Cartman woke up immediately. “Dude, I think that I forgot my mobile at your place! Haven't you seen it?”

Cartman almost vibrated, locking gaze with pale Stan Marsh and grinned crookedly. His face hurt still, as did his ribs, stomach, and balls, and there was a distinct metallic aftertaste in his mouth, however now, - at least all this promised to become entertaining.

Stan Marsh was totally not expecting Kyle’s visit… though, there was no telling, whether that would do any good or bad for Eric either.

“Liste...” started Kyle, then turned and noticed Cartman, who was sitting in the cell. “O-oh!”

Kyle looked exhausted. There were heavy bags under his eyes, his face grew even thinner, and nose sharpened. Kyle all looked dim and shabby. He certainly didn’t look happy and pleased with life. However Cartman was practically devouring him with his eyes and couldn’t stop looking.

“That’s insane!” marvelled Kyle, grinning from ear to ear. “Cartman in a cell! God, how long was I dreaming about this!”

Cartman darkened. In the very same second his each and every wound ached, and he suddenly realised, how greatly hurt and numb his tied hands felt. How his back and kidney, that took some hits with heavy boots, hurt. He felt his teeth totter in the mouth, and his left cheekbone swell. That he’s freezing, starving and thirsty. He was simply feeling sick and ill, and Kyle was looking at his sufferings with distinct pleasure.

“Amazing!” Kyle exclaimed, stopping in front of the grid and crossing arms on his chest. “That’s the place for you, you sow!”

Cartman was only looking at him silently. He had no power left to reply. He had no will to snap back. Kyle deserved his triumph, and for the first time in his life, - Eric was completely vulnerable in front of him.

That is why he sat there, mouth shut, grinding his teeth, not to accidentally slip a moan of pain of his beaten body.

“Kyle,” carefully called Stan, he looked confused and a little bit stunned. “You… did you fight again?”

“Yup,” said Cartman, instead of suddenly quiet Kyle. “We broke up three months ago, idiot, what did I tell you?”

Kyle suddenly went deep red and looked to the side. Stan was staring at them with huge eyes. Cartman started to realise, - that he totally misses something, something was off from this whole picture.

“What about...” Stan asked with bewilderment. “All these talks about living together? You’ve said, that you guys live together now?”

“We?” wondered Cartman. “Who said that?”

Kyle was looking above his head with ears caught in red flames.

“And these bruises,” Stan said. “What are these?”

“Yeah, Kahl?” mockingly asked Cartman, who instantly realised why all of this happened. “What are those?”

Kyle looked at him angrily, then his shoulders slumped, as if they were pushed down with a heavy weight.

“Well, I lied!” he replied aggressively. “So what?”

Stan blinked.

“But why?” he asked dumbfounded. “I was thinking that… I would only be happy, if you had broke up with Cartman.”

Kyle was silently cracking his fingers. He seemed to lose any desire to laugh and triumph now.

“And where did those bruises come from?” Stan asked, realizing that Kyle was planning on playing mute now.

“Don’t be so stupid, you idiot,” scoffed Cartman. “He did it to himself, am I right, Kahl?”

“Don’t call me that!” snapped Kyle. “Sit quiet, Cartman! No one asked for your opinion.”

“What are those?” Stan demandingly asked again, glaring at him with his piercing blue eyes.

“I was tying myself up,” Kyle admitted quietly, almost whispering. “I’m sorry for lying. That was stupid.”

Stan went silent. Then sat down and started to massage his temples with such grimace, as if he had the worst migraine.

“What is he doing here?” Kyle asked, not looking in Cartman’s direction. “And why is he covered in blood?”

“Because, sweety,” Cartman broke down, even if he was told to keep it quiet. “Our noble friend, Stan Marsh, decided to step up for your honor.”

Kyle looked at him with darkened gaze.

“How long did you sit there?” he asked. “Do you need a lawyer? What are the charges?”

“Infringing of a ginger jew’s ass,” replied Cartman right away. “section… who the fuck knows which one, paragraph dicklick.”

“Oh, Cartman,” sighed Kyle. “Stan, let him go.”

Stan looked at Kyle first, messed and flustered, then at beaten and angry Cartman. He then massaged the bridge of his nose and groaned.

Cartman and Kyle, even divided by the cell, were somehow still undeniably together. And that was so obvious, that Stan even amazed at his own stupidity , how could he believe Kyle’s bullshit, If Kyle was totally being out of himself lately, - Stan can’t even remember the last time he saw him smile or laugh.

But with Cartman close, Kyle somehow slowly blossomed, even if very hesitantly. And no matter what had happened between the two of them, - these two fucking idiots, and something definitely did happen, or else, they wouldn’t be staring each other down so intensely, they were reaching out for each other. Cartman, who was struggling to even breathe normally, was certainly reaching for Kyle, not even noticing himself. And Kyle was hardly holding back, from snuggling the cell, - Stan could see that. He, himself, knew them both for so many years, and now, he was only left to get used to this, - whatever this is.

He couldn’t save Kyle now. And Kyle can’t save himself anymore. And… probably, he didn’t need to be saved.

“Oh, how I’m fucking done with both of you!” said Stan agitated. “You two dickheads were made for each other!”

“Look at yourself,” Kyle snapped back at him. “How the fuck do you allow yourself to do this, it’s police brutality!”

Stan threw the keys at him, instead of answering.

“Take your ultra-nazi and go,” barked Stan. “I don’t want to ever see any of you here again and I don’t want to hear anything from you, you got that?! Don’t come crying to me, if something happens between you and Cartman again!”

“Stan, shut up,” Kyle ordered, growing red again. Even his ears were caught on red flames. Cartman would smile at the sight, but his vision was dark and blurry from exhaustion and pain.

Kyle opened the cell and cut the police binders with scissors. He clicked his tongue with resentment, seeing horrible dark marks being left on Cartman’s wrists.

Cartman was hardly able to stand, hunching, as he walked past Kyle, weakly bumping his shoulder. He stopped in front of Stan with such a both tired and angry look on his face, as if he wanted to hit him, but he had no power left, so he just coldly said:

“I want my stuff back.”

Kyle was watching them silently. When Cartman stepped into the light, - Kyle got a better look at his cuts and bruises. He was left horrified, - it looked, as if they messed up Cartman with heavy boots at some places.

Probably, that was exactly how that happened.

Stan unlocked the safe, taking out Cartman’s mobile, a pocket knife, car keys, a pack of business cards, his credit card, some crumpled bills and packs of one-use tissues, tight rolls of packed latex gloves, and other little things, that it seems, - were necessary to Cartman.

“Here,” said Stan, looking a little guilty.

Cartman’s phone almost exploded with messages of missed calls the second he turned it on.

“How long did you have him there?” Kyle asked quietly, while Cartman was sticking his stuff into his pockets.

“Some hours,” Stan as quietly replied. “You’re a jerk, dude. Why the fuck did you lie to me?”

“And what did I have to tell you?” Kyle tiredly snapped back.

“You’re fucked, Marsh,” promised Cartman.

He took a cup from the holder, filling it with some hot water from the cooler, then chugged it, not even wincing, then filled come cold one and emptied it again. Then he crushed it with a cracking sound and threw it into Stan’s direction, who easily dodged it. And Cartman, holding at his side, hobbled towards the exit.

His whole body felt numb, and at places, where the stinging numbness was slowly disappearing, it simply hurt, so his condition currently was - to just lie down and die.

“Cartman,” called Kyle, running after him to the parking lot, that’s been cleaned of it’s snow. “Let me take you home, ok?”

Cartman thought for couple seconds, then nodded. His car was left at Kyle’s place, and he still needed to get there one way or another. Kyle walked a little bit faster, trying to get ahead of him, trying not to look back, though Cartman could see, that he really wanted to.

“You didn’t tell him?” asked Cartman, having a hard time getting on the passenger seat of a small Volkswagen. “Didn’t blab?”

“To Stan?” asked Kyle. “About what you did to me?”

“No, fuck!” Cartman spat through his gritted teeth, who's back started to ache terribly, and he still couldn’t get himself in a right position. “To Derek Vinyard!”

“Oh, he would have praised you,” Kyle venomously replied. “He’d said, _good job, boy, you showed that kike his place_.”

Cartman was looking at Kyle’s profile for couple seconds - beautiful, with a sharp nose and pinkish lips. Kyle, even looking as messy as he did, he still stayed pretty.

“As if you didn’t know how things would go, when you dragged your ass to me,” he finally said in a tired voice. “In the back of your mind you knew everything, Kyle. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

“What?!” asked Kyle in outrage, glaring at him sideways with green sparkling eye. “Why did you say I dragged my ass in your opinion? I came to talk, to resolve our issues in a civilized way. Do you really think, that I wanted you to cripple, humiliate, and then kick me out naked in a fucking blizzard?”

“Exactly,” nodded Cartman. “You’re a victim-masochist, Kyle. And you damn well enjoyed it too, as I recall, the fact that I punished you, fucked and let go. That’s what I did, and you got off on that. Enjoyed it so much, that you were lying shamelessly, no fucks given, to your bestie, how great we are together.”

“Okay!” snapped Kyle furiously, abruptly hitting brakes at the sidelines. “You walk from here, asshole! Get out of my car!”

“I bet,” said Cartman, not even budging an inch. “You were tying yourself up to the headboard with your tie, jerking off, thinking about me, right?”

“Fuck off!” Kyle screamed, shaking from rage. “You will fuck off already, or I’m fucking smacking your face! I can see you haven’t had enough!”

“Were you coming with your fingers in your ass, or without?” inquired Cartman. “Or you can’t do it without fingers anymore?”

Kyle, as promised, hit him in the face. Cartman snapped his teeth and spit in Kyle’s face back. Kyle froze, blinking rapidly. The blood stains looked like freckles on his triangle-shaped face. He then reached for a handkerchief and wiped his face thoroughly, wincing, as he saw blood on a white tissue.

“Cartman, get out of my car,” he said calmly. “This is my last word.”

“No,” scoffed Cartman. “Your buddy brought me here with comfort, so now you drive me back.”

“Where did he get you?” Kyle couldn’t hold himself from asking. He was really curious on how Stan managed to get Cartman.

“At your place,” Cartman honestly replied.

Kyle arched an eyebrow.

“And what were you doing there?” he asked in disbelief. “I didn’t change keys, but I didn’t think that you would come. I thought, that you’d never want to...”

He glanced away and bit on his tongue.

“Check your phone,” advised Cartman. “Outgoing messages.”

Kyle complied.

 

“And you believed that?” he asked, after a minute. “I never texted you, I always called… and I would never write _‘Eric’_ ”.

“Well, I guess I’m an idiot then,” replied Cartman, looking away.

Kyle was looking at him carefully. He was probably solving something in that smart brain of his, something changed in his eyes, as he was thinking of an answer.

Cartman was waiting, feeling tired. He was too fucking tired to guess, what the other was thinking. He couldn’t carry this relationship all by himself, but it seems, he was only one who wanted to. Finally, Kyle smiled, a little bit in a discreet way, and started the engine again. Cartman couldn’t tell, what Kyle was thinking, he simply tried his best not to throw up in the car and wait till they get to the sidelines in front of Kyle's house.

And as soon as Kyle parked, Cartman got out of the car, not saying any goodbyes, and hissing from each movement. However, his “Cherokee’s” signal didn’t even chirp when the electronic car keys were pressed.

“Bi-itch,” sighed Cartman, slapping the hood. “Well, fuck.”

“Spent the battery?” guessed Kyle, who was watching him from a distance.

“Yup,” replied Cartman. “Forgot to turn off the lights. I’ll call a taxi.”

Kyle went quiet, staying close.

“Maybe, you should come in?” he asked. “You’re probably cold, and I think, you could use some bandaging.”

“It's fine,” squeezed Cartman through clenched teeth. “My pets haven’t been fed the entire day, and I’m fucking tired from today’s little adventure. Screw it, I’m going home.”

“I can take you,” Kyle offered. “You’ll drive your car later, when it’s charged.”

Cartman went silent.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly.

Kyle, thankfully, was quiet the whole way back, stayed out of any possible conversations and didn’t comment on anything, when Cartman lowered the window and started spitting blood on the road. Kyle was only glancing briefly at him with his bloodshot green eyes. It seems, he was also not getting enough sleep lately. Stan was saying something like that, - that Kyle was working day and night. Cartman didn’t try to ask anything too, all fed up with his own discomfort. And to his surprise, Kyle followed him in his house, as if he was chained, although, Cartman didn’t call him in.

“Oh, a kitty,” clumsily said Kyle, stopping in the kitchen doorway, unbuttoning his long black coat and taking gloves off. “What’s his name? Let me guess? Fuhrer? Reich?”

“His name is Goring,” replied Cartman, not looking back and trying not to spill the cat’s food with hands shaking from exhaustion.

“And where’s the dog?” tentatively asked Kyle, turning his head. “You’ve had a doggie, right?”

At the same moment Cartman heard, the square door, which led to the back yard, squeak.

“Here,” he replied.

Kyle even jolted with his whole body, when the dog rushed to the kitchen, dashing past him and throwing himself into Cartman’s knees, happily staining his pants with spit.

“And who’s that?” Kyle asked. “Hitler? Shirah?”

“It’s Coffy.” replied Cartman in a tired tone.

“Are you kidding?” wondered Kyle. “And why is he wearing wheels?”

“Because, his spine is broken,” coldly replied Cartman. “And with wheels - he’s a normal dog.”

“And who broke it - you?” snapped Kyle and looked away instantly, seeing Cartman’s face darken.

“Are you fucking insane?” Cartman hostilely asked. “Who do you think I am? I heal animals, not cripple them.”

Kyle shook his head.

“Well, you almost broke my spine,” he suddenly said. “I thought that I would probably need wheels too. I had a ruptured disk… and also...”

“Kyle, what the fuck you want?” Cartman interrupted him. He had no more patience left. “I’m not in the mood to listen to your whining. Why did you come here? I didn’t ask you to come in. What, you need a hate fuck again, didn’t have enough that last time?”

Kyle paled and leaped back, glaring at him miserably.

“N-no,” he squeezed, sweating and getting pink. “I don’t.”

“Get the fuck out of here, then!” ordered Cartman. “You seemed to be living pretty well without me. Now get the fuck out.”

“No, I...” Kyle sighed with frustration.

He then pulled himself together, running his hand through his face, as if he tried to wipe off the traces of resentment, and nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Alright. I’ll charge your battery and you can come pick up your car in the morning.”

Cartman waved him off, showing, that he didn’t need any favors from Kyle. Kyle was looking at him for couple seconds, biting his lip, then turned and left.

Cartman, whining from pain, bend to pour some food for the dog, but then dragged himself to the front door. He wanted to shower, to rub in some cream to his bruises and fall to the bed, but he just felt, that he needs to go to the porch. And Eric always trusted his intuition, - it proved itself very handy over the years.

Kyle didn’t leave. He was sitting on front steps, on the first one, slouched and hugging his knees, not caring that he was irretrievably stretching another pair of fashionable narrow pants. He was looking silently at the street, with a tired, submissive look, like an obedient stray, which wasn’t fed and patted in a long time, and kicked out in the cold. Kyle certainly wasn’t resembling that successful, sharp-tongued and smart lawyer that everyone knew.

Cartman was looking at his ginger head, noticing, that Kyle had his hair too long, and he was usually so considerate about his looks, but he just didn’t seem to care at this moment.

“I had to be stitched up,” quietly said Kyle, not turning his head. “I drove to a different town, because I didn’t want anyone to know. It was so humiliating, then I had to use enemas, and… it was so dirty, and constantly aching. And then I was ill from bilateral pneumonia. And I had to have a disk set back, because it ruptured...”

He sighed heavily.

“And I have scar on a visible place,” he glumly said. “You can be proud of yourself, Eric, because you had your revenge first class.”

“And I had a scar on my heart,” Cartman replied, looking at his shivering and gloomy silhouette. “And no one was healing me, you know. I had to do it myself.”

Kyle sniffed, and then started to laugh hysterically, bending back and forth.

“Yeah,” he said. “You never change! Do you think we can compare our injuries?!”

Cartman scratched his neck.

“You want rum?” he asked. “I don’t have wine, and I’m out of whiskey.”

Kyle grinned, throwing his head back and looked at him.

“Is that how you were healing?”

“Well, yeah,” Cartman honestly replied. “Nothing else helped.”

“Bring rum then,” agreed Kyle. “Why not?”

Cartman went back to the house, taking a started bottle with him and, wheezing, he got himself comfy on the stairs, on the porch, next to Kyle, who instantly knocked back the bottle, taking couple gulps, and grimaced.

“Strong?” asked Cartman, glancing at him.

Kyle shrug his shoulders and gulped some more.

He continued shaking, and his teeth were chattering. In these tight jeans, shirt, and his fashionable coat, - it was better to sit in a car, with heating, and not freezing one's ass in this cold and wind. Cartman sighed, unzipping his coat and opened an arm. Kyle glanced at him from sideways, with his big green eyes, the tip of his nose was turning red already, and his cheeks too, he then moved closer and hid in Cartman’s armpit, snuggling his nose into other’s shoulder. Cartman’s coat was like a blanket to Kyle. And under Cartman’s wing, - it was warm and cozy.

“I only went on two dates,” Kyle suddenly confessed, drinking more rum. “The second time - you’ve seen already how that ended, and it was even worse the first time. Stupid and boring and bad overall, I barely made it through the dinner. I still don’t know myself, why I needed that...”

He went quiet, giving the bottle to Cartman and said, glancing at him cautiously.

“Maybe, that’s ‘cus you never asked me out.”

Cartman choked, coughing.

“And you’d go?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, yeah,” replied Kyle, shrugging shoulders, and snuggling into him again. “But you always came, fucked me and left. That was more convenient to you.”

“Don’t bullshit!” exclaimed Cartman. “Kyle, at least, fucking, fear your mighty heebs god, - he can see all your sins! I came, when you called me, pleasured you, however you wanted, and you kicked me out like a dog. That was more convenient to you!”

“Fine,” scoffed Kyle. “Maybe, you’re right.”

He went silent again, just downing the bottle from time to time and furrowing his coppery, narrow and expressive eyebrows.

“You know,” muttered Cartman, feeling, that he got smashed pretty quickly from the combination of his day of hunger, exhaustion, and lack of sleep. “I always wanted to tell you, that I love you, for a very long time. At first, I just didn’t have the courage to say it, then something was getting in the way… so I’ve decided, that it’s time to say it. Now.”

Kyle was looking at him closely, not blinking, very serious and concentrated.

“I would eat you whole,” Cartman quietly, intimately said. “I love you and want you to be mine so much. You can think of it as a pitiful parody of love… but I can’t do it any other way.”

Kyle was silent for couple seconds. Then nodded.

“I know,” he muttered. “I’ve known for a long time… probably, all the ten years, since everything started between us. I always knew and, maybe, I was just too scared to admit it to myself… I always thought that it would one day go away and vanish.”

Cartman smiled, askewed, he couldn’t understand, - was Kyle turning him down, or there was still hope.

“But now I know,” said Kyle, nodding to himself. “I don’t want this to vanish, Cartman. Actually, I never wanted it to. I love you too, and I don’t think that your feelings are a pitiful parody. I’m sorry for saying that.”

He nuzzled his nose into Cartman’s armpit and sighed. Cartman’s smell: a combination of daily’s strong sweat, blood, weak notes of cologne, some medicine’s aftertastes and something else, that reminded of a hospital - it was very calming. Kyle calmed, even if his nerves were thrumming a second ago, as if they were pulled strings on an instrument. Cartman placed the almost empty bottle on the edge of a stair, and then carefully and gently, almost timidly, hugged Kyle by the shoulders, stroking his cheek with his bruised fingers. Kyle raised up a bit, clutching at Cartman’s neck and kissed him demandingly, at first - simply nipping his broken cheekbone, then his plum swollen lips. Cartman sighed hoarsely and replied to the kiss.

In the back of his mind Kyle feared, that someone will start pointing fingers at them, screaming, that they were doing something inappropriate, but literally not even one from the bypassers paid them any attention.

“And what did you expect?” scoffed Cartman, who was always noticing everything. “That everyone would applause you, and some gay-ass rainbow would appear above the city? Well, it’s not a disney movie, you’ve said it yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Kyle waved at him, snuggling closer and kissed Cartman again, because these demanding, hungry, and wet kisses, - he missed them so damn much.

“Let’s go inside?” Cartman suggested, putting a hand on the other’s hip. “We need to get warm.”

Kyle shook. His pink face, flustered from emotions and alcohol, went pale and anxiety appeared in his eyes.

“I...” he muttered unsure. “Yeah, let’s.....”

“Don’t be scared,” grinned Cartman. “You see, Kyle, what you really want - needs to be earned first, jewboy… and I’m completely out of shape now.”

Kyle pointedly scoffed and rose to his feet, then giving Cartman a hand.

“Earned?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “Cartman, you’re taking this too far!”

“O-h, you’ll beg me to repeat all those things,” promised Eric, knowing, that this is exactly how it will be. “And then I’ll remind you of all your sins, sweety.”

He also got on his feet and went inside. Kyle was holding other’s arm with tips of his fingers, like he was a blind person walking after a guide.

“I don’t know about you,” Cartman said. “but I’m fucking cold, so you can freeze your ass off more out here, but I’m planning on going to bed and sleep for at least twenty hours.”

Coffy eagerly wheeled past Kyle, - his wheels making a rhythmic knock on the tiles.

“Mhh-m,” said Kyle, unwillingly watching his trajectory.

Cartman turned to the bathroom and turned on the water. But when Kyle looked there in couple minutes, Cartman had only unzipped his pants and was trying to take off his shirt. His lips twisted in pain, Cartman was breathing heavily and was carefully trying to raise his hands, though, his attempts looked bad.

“What, they beat you good?” Kyle asked, pulling at the edge of the shirt, helping the other to undress.

“Your buddy Stan, will pay for this,” promised Cartman.

Kyle stood on one knee and dragged Cartman’s pants and underwear down.

“Don’t even think of hurting Stan,” he warned.

“What, are you scared for him?” asked Cartman, smiling wickedly and putting hand on Kyle’s ginger hair.

“That’s not the point,” replied Kyle in a detached way. “They’ll find you just like that. By motivation.”

He also grinned mischievously and added:

“And by your character’s repulsive nature of rancor and cruelty.”

Cartman scoffed, but obediently got under hot streams of the shower. A wrinkle between his bushy wide eyebrows disappeared. Cartman exhaled sweetly and looked down, where in the tray - a pinkish water started to pool, but pale and rather unsaturated.

Kyle sat down nearby, lowering the lid of the toilet, and began to look at Cartman. At his huge body, muscular and strong, covered in gray hairs, with a thick line from his solar plexus and down, covered in…

“Cartman!” sighed Kyle, seeing something, that definitely wasn’t there before.

Cartman raised an eyebrow and turned with his back towards Kyle, so the other could have a better look at his new tattoos.

On Cartman’s back, right under a big bold line _“Ich glaube an mein Feind”_ * appeared a huge black eagle of a Third Reich, holding a swastika in his claws. Kyle sighed again, then narrowed his eyes, seeing another tattoo, that wasn’t there before as well, which appeared on a side, sloppy and covered in stylised blood: _“Hit jews - save the planet”_.

“I was hurt and upset,” confessed Cartman. “Don’t be mad.”

“Yeah, and wasted to shit?” imagined Kyle.

Cartman grinned, looking guilty and turned his face towards the stream of a hot water. Moaned, when blood and dirt washed off at his neck.

“You’re a weird person,” Kyle stated bluntly. “You beat me, humiliated.... even raped me, and then got hurt and sad during your unwarranted self pity.”

“Even?” Cartman said, as he made air quotations. “I like your priorities, darlin’.”

Kyle threw a washcloth at him. Cartman caught it, but instantly groaned and slouched, touching his ribs.

“They aren’t broken?” Kyle innocently asked.

“Seems not,” replied Cartman. “But it hurts like hell, if it’ll make you happy.”

Kyle smiled sweetly.

“Are you planning to stop one day?” he asked, after a short silence. “Or are you going to be covering yourself with this shit until you run out of space?”

“Maybe, I’ll stop,” replied Cartman. “But I’m definitely going to have a dragon on my cock. It’ll be awesome, don’t you think? I’ll fuck you with a dragon Smaug, what do you think?”

“I think that would be painful as fuck to get it” Kyle scepticelly pointed out. “And that you’ll change your mind even before they touch your dick with a needle.”

“Well, in the perspective of fucking my little jew with Smaug, - I can bear with it,” laughed Cartman and grabbing his ribs again. “Oh, fuck… are you just going to stare, while I’m taking a shower?”

“Well, yeah,” Kyle said amazed. “I like it. Or are you against it?”

“I wanna take a leak real bad,” admitted Cartman. “And I’m about to do it right now.”

Kyle shrug his shoulders.

“You know, I’ve already seen it, right from the first row,” he said, twisting his lips. “I don’t think you can surprise me anymore.”

Cartman was looking at him pensively, and then still turned to a side. Kyle, even if he tried to look unconcerned, still looked into the white tile, but there was no blood in the urine. Therefore, Cartman wasn’t hit in his kidney or, at least, it wasn’t bad.

“Eh, fuck,” Cartman said, hitting the crane and trying to get out of shower. “Now I only need to get to bed and we can say, that my lucky day is over.”

Kyle took the towel from a hook, throwing it on Cartman’s shoulders and very gently wiped him couple minutes, trying not to push at his bruises. Cartman was quiet, towering over him and breathed with rum and mint paste into Kyle’s cheek.

“How ‘bout a morning blowjob?” asked Cartman. “I don’t insist, but it would be cool.”

“Well, you can do it, if you want,” Kyle indifferently replied. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Cartman smiled, putting hand on Kyle’s shoulders and lovingly stroked.

“What a sneakfucked jew you are,” he said, looking at Kyle with tenderness. “Alright, we’ll see.”

Kyle looked into the bedroom cautiously and exhaled, seeing that the mattress, - that he saw in his nightmares, wasn’t there.

“I burned it,” Cartman said. “That same day.”

Kyle nodded and turned his head.

“And where are we going to sleep, on the floor?” he asked capriciously.

Cartman looked at him with such large amount of confusion in his expression, that Kyle hasn’t seen on his wide face in many years.

“You want to stay?” he asked. “You want to sleep at my place?”

“Well, yeah,” replied Kyle surprised. “Why not?”

Cartman blinked, trying to process such new changes in his own personal life, then took a sleeping bag from the wardrobe and threw it onto the pile of pillows, blankets, and rugs.

“U-ugh,” grimaced Kyle. “Isn’t there anything more decent?”

“You’ve pissed away your orthopaedic mattress, my darlin’” absently replied Cartman. “Either you get in the bed and stop barking or go into the kitchen, there’s a sofa there.”

“Well, look who isn’t the most hospitable person in the whole world?” mumbled Kyle.

Behind him, something suddenly rustled very disturbingly. It was so disturbing, that Kyle felt short hairs on his neck and back rise in a wave.

“Step back from the snakerarrium, my love,” said Cartman. “Don’t tease Torquemada with your tasty ass, - he’s a fan of finest dishes.”

Kyle turned hastily, taking few steps away and gasped.

Cartman was sure, that Kyle would freak out. Kyle was one of those people, who can’t even handle a cat, but this...

“On god!” gasped Kyle. “Is this a boa?!”

“It’s a python,” corrected him Cartman. “Albino-python… an Arian breed.”

“You called a python Torquemada?” mumbled Kyle. “Goring, Coffy and Torquemada? Christ, Cartman, have you ever been a normal person?”

“Well, we can always buy a hamster,” suggested Cartman, trying to adjust his big body on an improvised bed, wheezing and moaning. “We’ll call him a ‘Hamster’.”

“I wonder who’ll get to mister Hamster first?” thought Kyle. “Goring or Torquemada?”

He crouched in front of the glass and started to look at the snake. The python was staring back at him.

“You really like him?” amazed Cartman.

Kyle started to nod.

“Can I hold it later?” he asked shyly.

“I can even put it on your neck,” Cartman sleepily promised. “But later.”

In couple minutes he started to snore, moaning in his sleep and hugging the pillow.

Kyle sat on the edge of the makeshift bed and looked cautiously at Cartman. He was furrowing his brows in his sleep, moving his fingers restlessly, whining. Purple bruises on his face darkened completely, turning into a full-pledged hematomas.

 _“It’s not late yet,”_ thought Kyle. _“I can still call Stan and tell him about those three. Cartman will go to jail for a long time, and I...”_

He didn’t even finish the thought, it was completely useless.

On Cartman’s sternum, on his wet skin after the shower, was sparkling a Celtic cross, big and gray-blue. Below the cross darkened numbers 14/88. Kyle sighed.

One way or another, but he will have to live with this now. With all these swastikas, lozungs, eagles and mottos. No matter how much he despised all of this crap, it was a component of Cartman’s character, and they both can’t get away from it.

“ _But you will get rid of one thing for me,_ ” thought Kyle of his small revenge, stroking Cartman’s short-shaved head. _“And I’ll jump out of my skin, but you, Cartman, will get a pink pony or a dick with butterfly’s wings. Just so you know, you asshole.”_

Cartman snorted, unaware of his crafty plans, grabbed his hand tightly, not waking up, and pulled Kyle into his chest. Groping him, breathing heavily from pain in his ribs, and snuggled into Kyle’s hair with his face, hugging across his chest.

Actually, Kyle really wanted to smoke, but he decided against getting out of Cartman’s embrace. He can have his cigarette tomorrow, in the morning, but lying in pillows and blankets, feeling Eric’s warmth, his breath in his hair, it was irreplaceable. Kyle missed that greatly.

Torquemada was staring at them, silent, unblinking, sticking out his trembling black splitted tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ich glaube an mein Feind" - "I believe in my enemy".  
> A Nazi lozung, coming from Richard Darre’s speech, who was a reichmeister of Food and Agriculture.


	6. 6.

On the fourth minute of the dinner Cartman couldn’t stop himself again, and sneaked a look at his mobile.

“Eric Theodore Cartman,” Kyle said coldly, barely holding himself. “I promise you, if you won’t stop being distracted - I’ll smash a soup plate onto your head!”

“Oh,” scoffed Cartman. “ _Theodore_? You are that serious, darlin’?.”

“I’m dead serious,” replied Kyle, slowly filling with untamed rage.

Cartman nodded, putting the phone away and distressingly looked into his own plate. Then looked at passing waiter. Then tapped his fingers on the table and looked into the glass. Then took the fork again and with squeamish caution poked with it at the dish on his plate.

“Hm-m,” he said. “It looks worse, than it tastes. What is it I’m eating?”

“Maritime with potatoes,” Kyle patiently replied. “And chestnuts with Brussels sprouts. It's edible.”

Cartman thoughtfully scratched his head.

“Well, if you say so,” he mumbled. “Although I would have preferred to, you know, grab a big Mac, drink a cola, and cuddle with you in the back row of the cinema.”

“I know,” Kyle replied in a frigid tone. “I’m well aware of your primitive tastes. That’s exactly why we’re having a normal date in a normal restaurant.”

“Maybe you need to find a normal man too?” spat Cartman. “One not as primitive as me?”

“Maybe I will,” spoke Kyle.

Cartman narrowed his eyes.

In the following second his phone erupted with music, - some rah-rah german march.

“Yes,” Cartman immediately replied. His face darkened, brows furrowed, and his gaze moved away from Kyle’s face. “Yes, I’ll be there soon.”

He hastily got up, throwing a napkin from his legs, and looked at Kyle, who was pale from anger, then sat back.

“Sweety, I have to go,” guiltily said Cartman. “It’s a work call.”

“Get out then, It’s not like I’m holding you here or something,” Kyle said through gritted teeth, furiously impaling a boiled brussel sprout with his fork.

“Right,” Cartman muttered. “I come back home, and all my stuff and beasts are out in the cold again, huh?”

“Stop your nonsense,” Kyle spat. “And just go already, weren’t you in a hurry?”

“Kyle,” Cartman called. “I wanted to spend time together too, but I really need to go, there will be trouble if I don’t.”

“Go then,” coldly said Kyle. “Go save the world.”

Cartman was looking at him, upset.

“Baby,” he said. “Don’t be mad. It’s not like I can say to a horse: ‘Hold it for couple hours, you can have your foal later.’ it doesn’t work like that.”

Kyle nodded.

“I just wanted to spend time with you,” he said quietly. “It’s a pity it didn’t go well.”

“You wanna come with me?” blurted out Cartman.

Kyle looked at him with surprise, then nodded.

“Seriously?” said back Cartman, surprised. “You wanna go with me to fuck-knows-where?”

Kyle nodded again. Cartman straightened and snapped his fingers, grabbing a waiter’s attention.

“A check here, chop-chop.” he barked.

Kyle got up and started to button up his coat. He really couldn’t understand why he needed this himself - driving somewhere in the middle of the night, and out of the town too. But he certainly didn’t want to just sit here, choking on that sprout in a dignified and sad solitude.

Cartman grabbed him by the elbow and guided him outside. Dragging Kyle very gently, even though he was in a hurry.

“Put on a belt,” muttered Cartman, when they climbed into Cartman’s life-beaten “Cherokee”. “I need to drive fast. I’m short on time.”

Kyle obediently clicked the seat belt in place. He  glanced at Cartman, noticing how he momentarily shed off all of his usual domestic demeanour.

Cartman was collected, looking absolutely unwaveringly calm, only his eyes were giving away how anxious he was.

“Can I watch?” Kyle asked unsure. Suddenly realizing that he never in his life, not even once, saw Cartman work.

He knew Eric his whole life, from childhood, and knew all of his sins and weaknesses: laziness, cruelty, egoism, arrogance, and his ever consistent racial intolerance. But this new, businesslike and cold-strained Cartman has been unfamiliar to him.

“You can,” Cartman replied after a short silence. “Unless you get under my nerves. And if you get your pretty white shirt dirty, don’t throw a bitch fit about it, deal?”

Kyle was very tempted to start bitching at Cartman right here and say: “ _Why did you take me with you, if I’m so useless?_ ”, but he realized in time, that this wasn’t the right moment, and Cartman would simply kick him out of the car, since they haven’t left the town yet, and send him home. But right now, Kyle felt particularly interested to see how Cartman did his job.

“Is it going to be long?” Kyle asked gently, while Cartman was driving towards the highway.

“I hope not,” Eric replied quickly. “It’s fucking freezing out here. I don’t particularly want to take care of you if you get angina afterwards. If everything goes well, then we’ll be done in half hour, but if it doesn’t...”

He went quiet. Kyle nodded as reassurance, even if he had no idea whether things might go well or not. But he was suspecting, ‘may not go well’ - it’s always ‘bad’.

“Have you ever done this before?” Kyle asked.

It was pitch black behind the glass, car flying through the dark, slicing through the snow. Tires were crinkling, and the blizzard was howling hysterically.

“Of course, many times,” Cartman replied. “So relax.”

Kyle shrugged his shoulders.

In the end, everything turned out not as scary as Kyle had been imagining. It was plain boring, actually. No one really paid him any attention, when Cartman muttered “He’s with me”, and went to look at the lying horse in a stable. Kyle wasn’t chased out, he simply wasn't noticed, so he stood in the far corner of a barn, trying not to step his shoes into any shit, and started to watch.

He was frightened at first, because the horse was lying at her side and screamed in almost human’s voice. Though, Cartman didn’t appear worried much, he was giving orders, and he was being obeyed immediately.

_“Weird,”_ Kyle thought. _“Who would have thought, that Cartman, with all of his bullshit, would grow up to be a rather successful vet?”_

But then, Cartman turned worried and his face darkened. He dropped his coat, not caring much where it’ll land, and his jacket was immediately picked up by farmers, the horse’s owners. Cartman dropped to one knee, touching at the horses bloated belly and turned thoughtful. He then stretched and started to pull on rubber gloves.

His black shirt hitched up at the side, exposing a decent piece of a tattoo. Kyle sighed - now he was worried that it will be Cartman catching angina, or freezing his kidney, but he also realized, that at this moment, it was better to sit and keep his mouth shut. Orange letters were flames under the black shirt, but Cartman wasn’t paying any attention to it, no one was actually, besides Kyle, it seemed.

Kyle was quite fond of this particular tattoo, the only one, of all Cartman’s other tattoos. He felt indifferent towards all swastikas and Nazi slogans. They weren’t targeted specifically at him in particular - this was simply Cartman’s madness, and if he wants to ruin his skin with that trash, then Kyle wouldn’t stop him. But there was one tattoo Kyle didn’t like. It hurt him. It made him sad. And each time he saw it, he grimaced because it did refer to him personally.

‘Hit jews - save the planet’, Cartman had tattooed on his back. Even if it had been made while he was in a drunken state, even if he wasn’t serious, Kyle could still tell the real meaning of those stupid words, the pain and anger, that Cartman felt. Though, naturally, he didn’t want talk to Eric about it, because what’s done is done.

Cartman wasn’t a fool, nor was he blind. He realized pretty quickly, how this line was making Kyle upset, and that was exactly why one late night, he returned home with a huge bandage on his side.

Actually, Kyle had been calling him, but Cartman wasn’t answering. Actually, Kyle was about to start one jealous hysterical fight and, actually, he was himself surprised, hearing his own voice filled with cold and pure rage:

“Where, the fuck, have you been?!”

“Honey, I’m home,” mumbled Cartman, trying to slip past him.

“Did you get hurt?!” gasped Kyle, seeing that Cartman was holding at the side and stood, slightly bent.

“Right in the heart,” nodded Cartman. “Maybe, you’ll let me in?”

Later, in the shower, Cartman took off the bandage, to wash his new tattoo, and Kyle gasped. He, of course, knew, that a bad tattoo could be somehow fixed by another one, but didn’t realise, how that actually looked.

‘Hit jews’ disappeared, as if it wasn’t there. At its place, right across the whole side, were big bright-orange lines, that were slowly changing color and turning in the end to perishing green.

“And what kind of manifest is that?” Kyle inquired, who, contrary to Cartman, didn’t speak german. “Is it yet another slogan for anti-semitic crap?”

“Take a dictionary and see yourself, my love,” Cartman suggested through gritted teeth.

He was trying hard to show that he certainly wasn’t feeling any pain, though Kyle could easily see that Cartman was barely holding himself from yelling, even at the light touch of a shower stream.

“Let me pour some lotion onto it,” Kyle gave up. “I’ll also look up what kind of Forsyte saga shit that is. And if there is any filth again - I’ll bite you, I swear!”

Cleaned, Cartman plopped onto the bed, putting all pillows under his back at once, and Kyle, after rubbing some bacitracin into his back, turned on the tablet and opened online dictionary. At first, he tried to look up the translation of each of the words, but then realized, that it was a poem, so he simply googled the first line, finding translation immediately.

Cartman was quiet, watching him, laying his head onto crossed arms. His eyes were cautious, as if he was waiting, that Kyle would laugh. But with that, Cartman looked completely sure in his own righteousness.

“Oh,” muttered amazed Kyle. “Oh... where is this from?”

“Soundtrack to a movie,” Cartman said, and a wrinkle between his eyebrows disappeared. “The movie is totally about you, my sun. It’s called ‘Nymphomaniac’, have you watched it, no?”

Of course, Kyle immediately bit his arm. Cartman yelled and almost threw Kyle off the bed.

“You beast!” he lovingly exhaled, watching Kyle with black, sparkling eyes.

“You can’t drink right now, probably,” Kyle thought out loud. “But I have a stash of weed. You want some?”

Cartman scoffed and nodded. So they shared a joint first, then Kyle decided he wants to watch the ‘ _Nymphomaniac_ ’, even though he was suspecting, that Cartman’s advices always had double-meaning.

And that’s exactly what happened: apart from some dim feeling of lust,Kyle had remembered nothing of the movie, because at the ten minute mark, he wanted to fuck. Cartman couldn’t move that much, so Kyle sat on top of him, very woman-like, with widely spreaded legs, setting asscheeks on his crotch. The depth of a penetration was mind-blowing, or, maybe, it was just Kyle, who was so thrilled. Cartman was thrilled for sure, he was lying, clutching at the sheets, or at Kyle’s hips, and looked at Kyle with such gaze, as if his sinful soul had finally envisioned a Holy God.

Kyle was riding him, and in the background, on the laptop, a woman was screaming and moaning, Cartman was staring madly and gulped loudly; spots of light were dancing on his wide chest, covered in hairs and tattoos. And in that second, Kyle had suddenly realized, what he must have subconsciously known all this time. Not only Cartman fucks him all these years. Kyle was no less fucking him too - but differently. Inside his very soul.

“Kyle, come here!” Cartman called and snapped his fingers, dragging Kyle out from his thoughts.

Kyle obediently came closer and stretched his neck, looking at the lying horse. Cartman was looking at his hands couple seconds, then nodded to himself and said:

“Good. Take off your coat and shirt.”

“What?” Kyle asked in surprise. “Why?”

“Do what I say,” Cartman ordered. “No time to talk.”

Kyle didn’t even get to blink, as his coat has been taken off of him, just like his shirt was, to be carried away to somewhere. His hands were washed, making him first to lather them in some stinky disinfecting soap.

“Listen closely,” Cartman said, all collected and serious.

Kyle nodded and automatically pulled his shirt down, covering the tattoo and the naked part of his back: _“Lead me, hold me. I feel you, I won’t abandon you... Two pictures, only one frame. One body, yet two names. Two wicks, one candle. Two souls in one heart. Lead me, hold me.”_

“This Colt is turned wrong way, one of his hooves are pointed forward,” Cartman explained. “He needs to be turned. You will stick your hand into the horse, catch the hoof and turn. Got it?”

“Are you kidding?!” Kyle whined, feeling instantly sick. “I… I can’t!”

“Then either the colt or the horse dies,” Cartman calmly said. “Or both. I’m not making you do it. But I do need your help.”

Kyle paled and looked at the horse, painfully neighing.

“O-okay,” he muttered. “Just… don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Of course,” Cartman said, sincerely. “I’ll be here the whole time. You just got good hands, your wrists are thin.”

“And where do I stick it?” Kyle asked, uncertain for a few seconds, but getting onto his knees behind the horse.

“Into her cunt, of course,” scoffed Cartman. “Where else?”

He went quiet and then added mockingly:

“Maybe, that’s your chance to know a woman, you know?”

“Fuck you” Kyle said back. “I knew more women, than you think!”

Well, at least anger helped him snap back from his half-conscious state. In fact, Kyle was sure, that now, someone would surely ask Cartman, ‘ _what faggot did you drag in here, vet buddy_ ’, but only one of the farmers giggled and that was it. It seemed, there were no one wishing to talk about Cartman’s choice of a life partner.

“If you feel like throwing up,” warned him Cartman, “then do it on the other side of the horsie, I won’t mind if you barf all over my shoes.”

The cold sweat was running down Kyle’s back, his white shirt stuck to his body, as he shoved his hand almost up his up to his elbow inside an another living creature, and the feeling was very strange.

“Do it,” calmingly said Cartman. “Don’t rush it. Don’t rush it at all, everything is going to be fine.”

“I got it!” exclaimed Kyle, actually feeling something with his fingertips, that seemed like a hoof.

“Turn it around,” ordered Cartman, helping him from the outside.

He was holding horse’s stomach, also turning the colt, pushing gently, but firmly.

“Turn this buster’s muzzle towards us, and don’t move your hand around too much.”

“I wish I knew at least where his muzzle was,” huffed Kyle, obediently turning something. He suspected, that he’ll have bruises all over his hand later on, so hard and painful horse’s clutching womb was clasping him.

Cartman managed to pull him back by the shoulders just in time, as the colt immediately started to birth.

Kyle thought, certain, that now he’ll be kicked out, ordered not to get in the way, but Cartman didn’t touch him. Maybe, Kyle wasn’t getting in his way, or, maybe, Cartman had realized, that for Kyle, previously not familiar with horses that much, this is an amazing and extraordinary scene. Kyle seemed to forget, that his hands are covered in blood and fluids, and wiped the face, getting his sticking hair out of his view, leaving a bloody stain on his cheek. Cartman smiled at him, he was amused by Kyle’s excited state. What a turmoil for a jewish city boy!

“Eric?” Kyle called, abcently touching car’s panel, when they had somehow cleaned themselves and went home.

“Yes, my darlin’?” replied Cartman, looking at the road.

 

Stan, even after swearing not to butt into their relationship,  someday still said worryingly:

“You look…… good.”

He then sighed and clumsily asked:

“Cartman isn’t beating you, is he? And you better lie, if I won’t like the answer. I’d sleep better this way.”

Kyle replied to him with the smile of a Mona Lisa.

Saying that, if fact, yes, he does beats him - it was dangerous for Cartman, Stan simply wouldn't understand and mix up everything. And Kyle wasn’t into sharing the details. Those were his own personal memories. About sweet and humiliating preorgasmic slaps, which were coming from Cartman in generous amounts, when he saw that Kyle couldn’t cum, languishing from burning arousal. About the whistle of a belt, about stinging and swollen marks on his legs and ass.

Stan would freak out, and the truth was, that now, Kyle had to beg desperately for this - for belts, for slaps, for bruises and bites, because vindictive Cartman had kept his promise, and all these satisfactory, even if it sunk in perversion, things, now have had to be deserved by begging and submitting. And if Kyle was to tell anyone about this, he simply didn’t know how to describe the feeling of protection, comfort and safety, that he felt in Cartman’s strong hands. That those huge and cruel hands could be very gentle and caring. It was a clear psychological, tactile feeling of love, sweetness, and a neverending affection.

“We’re fine,” Kyle simply replied, seeing that Stan was waiting for his reply.

“Cartman isn’t hurting you, is he?” asked Stan. “Well, it surely doesn’t seem like it. You look much better, you know?”

“No, he’s not,” smiled Kyle. “He calls me “ _my love_ ”, can you imagine?”

“Well, what a story,” scoffed Stan.

That’s where their talk about Kyle’s relationships seemed to end.

 

“Sorry, about what I was saying about your work before,” Kyle said, looking at Cartman with guilt in his eyes. “For being contemptible and saying, that it was a dirty job for the dumb. I didn’t know it was so responsible.”

“Oh my fucked, cocksucking, dickhead god,” laughed Cartman, though, he undoubtedly felt very pleased. “Jewboy, only now did you finally realise, how fuckingly awesome I am?”

“Yes,” Kyle replied, shrugging his shoulders. “I have a cool boyfriend, and I’m very proud of you.”

Cartman hit the brakes so suddenly, that the car almost swerved from the road. At least they were the only ones driving at this night hour.

“What did I say?” frightened Kyle, who was only saved by the seat belt from a flight right through the windshield.

Cartman was looking at him with widened dark eyes, which were cleared from tiredness.

“Well, look at this,” he said slowly. “Not even ten years have passed, and you’ve finally admitted, that I’m yours.”

Kyle blinked.

“Of course you’re mine,” he replied without any traces of doubt. “What did you think, dumbass?”

Cartman unlocked his belt, then bent and kissed Kyle’s lips hungrily.

“Maybe, I should fuck you at the backseat?” he asked, thinking out loud. “There’s enough space, if I bend you in half...”

“No,” Kyle objected, hugging Cartman by the neck. “I’m covered in horse’s blood and god knows what else. I cannot be fucked.”

“Blood suits you, darlin’,” Cartman purred, kissing him behind his ear. “It livens you up, you know, adds more colors to your hebrewish looks.”

“Oh, shut up,” Kyle scoffed, shoving him lightly. “Let’s go home.”

Cartman patted his cheek, where indeed, dried darkened blood spatters, he then locked in the belt again and started the car.

“Are you proud of me too?” Kyle asked. “I did everything right? Was I good?”

“Yes,” Cartman agreed, not trying to mock him for nothing. “You were good, and I’m proud of you too. You didn’t even faint or barf on your shoes… you’re good.”

Kyle slapped his hand.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he advised. “It’s not as scary, as you were telling me. Just...”

He went quiet, trying to come up with the right words for all the worry he went through, but waved his hand at it in the end. Though it seemed, that Cartman understood him without any words.

“And how were you managing without my help before?” Kyle couldn’t hold himself back from wondering.

Cartman shrug his shoulders and turned from a cleaned highway towards their street.

“Sometimes there’s help,” he replied. “Sometimes I don’t need it. It’s rare, that colt goes across the womb. And when I have to do it myself, I manage, but it’s not that easy.”

He showed Kyle his hand with big, wide wrist. There were gray hairs growing at his knuckles and the wrist too. Kyle suddenly trembled with his whole body, looking at this big hand, with short nails and a scratch at the biggest knuckle.

“Are you thinking about fisting, you horny jew?” Cartman assumed. “Wanna try it?”

“Are you insane?” Kyle passionately fussed. “You’ll tear me inside out!”

“A week of a daily stretching,” Cartman replied. “You’ll need some big toys for a couple of evenings, and then we’ll try.”

“You’re totally fucked!” Kyle gruffed, turning away to the other side. “I would never do such a thing. That’s just too much!”

Cartman grinned, throwing a glance to his flustered face.

“It’s never boring with you, Ka-a-hl,” he said. “With you and your hungry ass.”

Kyle, not turning, unmistakingly hit him in the side with his fist, then started to search for his cigarettes. Cartman laughed. Kyle was looking into the slightly opened window, thinking and throwing the ash into the ashtray from time to time.

“Alright, my love,” declared Cartman, parking near the garage. “Stomp your feet towards the house.”

“Did you feed my baby in the morning?” Kyle asked, unlocking his belt.

Cartman shook his head adversely.

Kyle immediately livened up and exited the car quickly.

“Actually,” shouted Cartman to his back, “It was my snake first! It’s my baby!”

Kyle, not turning, threw him the middle finger, and escaped to the house.

“Little bitch,” Cartman muttered, smiling. “You are my baby too.”

He put the car into the garage, then entering the house, on a pure instinct stepping over Goring, and turned to the kitchen. Kyle went down, with Torquemada circled around his body just like Laokoon, took a frozen mouse out of the freezer and threw it into the microwave, not paying any attention to Cartman.

“Are you hungry, my angel?” Kyle purred, petting the python's flat yellow head.

Anyone, who didn’t know Kyle well enough, would have guessed that he’d choose the disabled doggie as his favorite. As Kyle was so positive, righteous, and socially-active. But Cartman knew Kyle well, and he knew that Kyle is far from the good person he tried to appear to be. Kyle had all of a regular human’s negativity in himself. Cartman was raising stakes for Goring. But Kyle managed to surprise him by falling in an undying love with the python: at any given possibility putting it on his shoulders, cuddling with it, he’d probably go as far as taking it to the bed with him, unless Cartman had strongly forbid doing it. Cartman suspected, that having a ball python in ones bed - wasn’t a great idea. And since he was the one licenced vet from the two, not Kyle, - his strong word had won.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, sweety,” Kyle tenderly said.

Cartman twitched and looked at him, but Kyle, of course, was being intimate with Torquemada, ignoring Cartman, who tried to feed the crying cat, and a dog, who was beyond curious about the weird fat hose without smell or color, that laid in Kyle’s hands.

“What a jerk,” complained Cartman to Goring, while he ate from his tray so fast, that you could hear crunches behind his ears. “He loves the snake, but not us!”

Kyle, while upstairs, twingled with the terrarium’s big door, then went to the shower, where water started running. Cartman had sighed, soon realizing that he’ll have to bath on the first floor, where water ran slower, and mostly cold. Kyle, an egoist, didn’t give a shit about his discomfort, he simply wanted to bath himself; he, in fact, was a neat freak and, as Cartman suspected, it came from his nerves, like hysteria. And to top it all off, Cartman had suspected, that he was the one to actually feed that hysteria once, - not everyone's psyche could cope, if you were being kicked out in the snow, while beaten, raped and covered in piss, like you were a used condom.

And that, - that was something Cartman had tried to work on.

“Oh, here you are,” Kyle lazily noticed, when Cartman came upstairs into the warm bedroom, almost with his teeth stuttering.

And Kyle, relaxed, naked and pink after a hot shower,- the son of a bitch,- was laying on the bed and cuddling with a python. Torquemada was obediently tracing across Kyle’s body, snatching his black tongue out, circling Kyle’s leg in a white-yellow ring.

Goring, who sat at the top of a bookstand, was watching intensely, thumping his tail. Goring would have eaten the python in a snap, but was careful to approach. And he was correct in using that approach, as Cartman wasn’t sure, that in this epic battle, the winner would be the fat, greasy cat, because the python wasn’t exactly a weakling either.

“Alright,” Cartman said, taking Torquemada off of Kyle and bringing it back to the terrarium. “All of the interlopers can get the fuck out, now!”

Goring meowed short and displeased. Cartman had previously never been against the cat coming to sleep with him. Coffy couldn’t get onto the bed, so he slept, making himself comfortable on a pile of clothes, stuffed there by Cartman’s side of the bed. But once, Kyle was yelling his lungs out extremely loud, and Goring was fast to get there to defend him, biting Cartman’s hand, after that Cartman decided that extra voyeurs weren’t necessary during sex.

To be honest, he even felt some resentment. He took Goring in as a little kitten, balding from dermatite, with a bloated belly, half-blinded and squeaky. For a week he was feeding him from a dropper, warming him up with own body heat in his pockets. And now this ginger fluffy, fat, fuck ass bitch adored Kyle with a jealous love. Even defending him, uncaring for own guts. Kyle, even if he laughed hard, was very touched down his heart.

Cartman took Goring in his hands, leaving him in the corridor and firmly shut the bedroom door.

“Hey,” Kyle said cocky, putting his hands behind his head. “Give me the snake back!”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Cartman said. “Don’t you want to warm me up? I almost froze my balls off downstairs, while you were splashing in a warm bath with comfort.”

“No, I don’t,” said Kyle capriciously. “And don’t try to sneak into my bed, you icicle!”

Cartman narrowed his eyes.

The bed was Kyle’s, true to that. And the house was Kyle’s, as Cartman only moved in here completely couple months ago, making sure, that he won’t be kicked out again this time. He and Kyle had changed since that unsuccessful attempt of living together and now, it seemed, everything turned out differently. They matured and grew tired of the torment, not wanting to suffer by themselves anymore, though living together wasn’t as bright and easy, as it looked like in their dreams.

“Ruined my date with birthing horses,” Kyle muttered.

His wet hair curled into tight red circles, and bright red patched scribble somehow made Kyle look younger, he appeared so boyish.

“Come here,” Cartman called, but Kyle only glanced at him and scoffed dismissive.

“I’m good here,” he said. “And you forgot the magic word.”

Cartman sighed. He could see, that inside Kyle’s green and clear eyes, demons were dancing.

“Please, Kyle,” he said peacefully and very calmly. “Come to me.”

Kyle thought for couple seconds and wrinkled his nose.

“Nope,” he replied, grinning capriciously.

Cartman nodded to himself and came to bed, working his belt open.

Kyle watched him with a distinct interest, as his eyes spoke: “ _What, what are you going to do to me?_ ”

“Hold your hands near the headboard, if you would be so kind,” asked Cartman. “Just a minute, please.”

Kyle obediently raised his hands, but the grimace on his face was telling, that he is doing Cartman a huge favor.

“Thank you,” Cartman said politely, pulling a leather belt from his pants, making a loop and tightly tied Kyle’s hands to the iron lattice.

Kyle blinked and licked his lips, in his eyes an interested fog appeared, not yet an arousal, but it’s precursor. Cartman gently took his slim and beautiful foot into both hands, putting his lips onto it, slowly tracing from the big toe to the ankle and kissing the bone.

“A-ah,” exhaled Kyle, starting to turn pink.

Cartman smiled.

“Are you a good boy, Kyle?” he asked vaguely and licked the bend of the foot.

Kyle started to nod and spread his toes. He very much loved any attention to his feet, his paws were indeed sensitive.

“And what do good boys do the best?” Cartman asked.

Kyle blinked, his eyelids flattering.

“What?” Kyle asked with pure interest.

“Beg,” Cartman said. “So beg, Kyle, the best you can… and if you’ll convince me, that you’re a good boy...”

Kyle’s cock, pink and circumcised, twitched immediately. Kyle lowered his gaze and licked the swollen lips.

“If I’m happy with you - maybe I’ll give you a little more,” promised Cartman.

He took a big toe into his mouth, sucking on it, then moved to the next toe, and so on. Kyle started to sniff, moan and spreaded his legs in demand.

“I can’t hear you,” Cartman hinted. “Convince me, that you’re a good boy and deserve a reward.”

“Eric,” Kyle called almost immediately. “Eric, please, hurt me.”

Cartman tenderly smiled at him in reply. He liked that Kyle, finally, had started to call things by their names. When Kyle wanted love - he asked of love. When he wanted pain - he asked of pain. When he wanted sex and violence - he then straight begged for it. And it was fair. And it helped them both to understand each other. All hail sex and violence!

“Hurt you?” Cartman clarified. “And what do you want, Kyle?”

“Bite me,” exhaled Kyle, blinking rapidly. “I want you to leave your mark! I want you to bite me till I bleed… cut me… do anything you want!”

He looked at Cartman madly, and in his very eyes was a pure want of submission, obedience, so Cartman couldn’t hold himself, even if he’d wanted to.

Cartman, to be honest, felt sick when he noticed a white scar on Kyle’s neck, so close to the jugular vein. Just how didn’t he tore Kyle’s throat apart that time? He could have killed him for sure. It was a pure luck, that everything ended well. However now, Cartman was in control of everything: of himself, Kyle, and the level of danger during their games. So he grinned and asked absently:

“And did you deserve all that, Kyle? Were you really a good jewish boy?”

“Yes!” Kyle moaned. “Yes, I was!”

“Hm-m,” Cartman thought, stopping to massage and sometimes kiss his warm, sensitive feet. “Well, I don’t think so. Today, for example, you were bitching considerably today .”

“But...” Kyle muttered desperately, trying to come up with something. “But… can I ask for an advance? You know, so that I had a positive motivation...”

Cartman’s grin looked so sinister, it made Kyle shut up and relax.

It seemed, he realized, that he will get so much motivation, he’ll stay motivated for a full month straight minimum. And now he could indeed only relax and let the flow carry him.

Eric took a loose tie from the chair, made it into a knot, that he used as a noose, tightening it around Kyle’s neck. Kyle had jolted in surprise, and the constrictor knot only tightened more.

“You trust me, sweety?” Cartman relaxingly asked. “So don’t move, while I do everything I want with you.”

Kyle gulped and nodded carefully.

Cartman sat on his legs, taking two tight wooden pegs from the bed stand and waved them in the air. Kyle was watching his hands with a condemned gaze.

“What an interesting and useless rudimentary,” Cartman said, imitating thoughtfulness. “Two whole papilla mammae. But for you, Kyle, they sure are a benefit.”

He swiftly and carefully pinned one peg to Kyle’s nipple - Kyle howled.

He was afraid to move, breathing rapidly, but the pain was unbearable, so he started to shake.

“It’s a pity, that it’s not like other mammals, -  that have three pairs of them,” Cartman mumbled, watching him. “That would be more interesting.”

He pinned the second peg and flicked it, making Kyle scream.

“Do you know what’s the benefit, my precious jew?”

“No-o-o,” Kyle sniffed, moving around and trying not to twitch too much. “I… I don’t know.”

“It’s that like this, through pain, you will learn to obey,” Cartman educationally said.

Kyle tried to mutter something, but only unclear mix of sobs and word scraps were coming out of his mouth.

“What was that bullshit?” Cartman enquired. “Are you trying to tell me something? And please, would you be so kind to add _hauptsturmfuhrer_ , when addressing me.”

Kyle threw him a quick, sarcastic glance and, to his horror, he wasn’t quick enough to avert it, before Cartman had noticed his disrespect.

“Hm,” Cartman said, painfully flicking Kyle at the golden ring in his cock. “Well, if you ask so much...”

He got on his feet and took a pack of rubber gloves from the drawer, ripping them and pulling on his hands, quick and professional. Kyle felt himself jolt from the snap of the latex.

Cartman pulled out a pack of sterile surgeon needles, opening it and sat beside Kyle, as he paled.

“You know,” he said confidently, taking out the thinnest needle in the pack. “The smallest are the hard ones to use, it's easy to get one into your own finger, so they are usually held with a clamp. So if you twitch, and I hurt myself - I can guarantee you, that there will be no reward, because I will stop everything. So lie still, baby.”

Kyle sobbed, looking cautiously at the needle.

“Though, I am giving you my permission to scream, ok,” Cartman said graciously. “You can scream all you want.”

He chose a comfortable place, a little bit lower than holes from collarbones, and catched skin with a needle. Kyle yelled.

“Well-well,” Cartman smiled, threading the needle. “We’ve only just begun.”

“Fuck!” Kyle bellowed. “Fuck, it hurts!”

He saw that Cartman was pulling out the next needle, a thicker one, and paled again.

“Bitch!” Kyle wailed, while the needle was slowly moving under his skin. “Fucking hell it hurts, oh fu-u-uck! Holy shit! Eric!”

Cartman took the third needle unaffected.

“Stop!” Kyle squealed. “Stop, fuck you! Bitch, stop! I will fucking kill you! Shit, fu-u-uck! Please, Eric, bitch, stop!”

“Good boys don’t swear like that,” Cartman pointed out, shoving the next needle in. “I should wash your mouth with soap, but I’ll permit you to suck my dick instead, alright.”

Kyle, breathing heavily, looked at him helplessly and nodded.

Cartman shoved the thickest needle under his skin, making sure, that the end found it’s way out, and traced a crescent moon path with his fingers. The needles, curved as half-moons, were running down as a symmetric widening row from the collarbones to xiphisternum, ending at the hollow between the ribs. Kyle was sobbing and trying to hold back his tears. But when Cartman put down the pack, took gloves off and moved closer, Kyle immediately reached with his lips and hungrily put his mouth around the solid salty dick.

“Much better,” Cartman mumbled, squinting with pleasure. “Yeah, you are quite a good boy, Kyle. Der gute junge.”

He stroked Kyle’s cheek and suddenly yanked off the peg from the left nipple. Kyle jolted with his whole body and bellowed. Cartman scoffed approvingly and scratched behind Kyle’s ear. Kyle was working his mouth diligently, gulping and squinting. Cartman yanked off the second peg. Kyle sobbed and accidentally squeezed his jaws a little bit harder. Of course, he wouldn’t dare to use his teeth, but Cartman still frowned, pulled back and gave Kyle one loud slap. Kyle gasped. His cock finally hardened and started to leak.

“Brace your legs to your chest,” Cartman ordered, shaking off his friendly tone. “Now! Harder!”

Kyle hastily obeyed. Cartman looked at his ass with a hungry gaze, then snapped his fingers.

“The benefit is clear,” he said to himself. “Naturally clear the benefit of discipline for young ginger jews.”

Kyle was looking at him with a maddened, demanding gaze. He was demanding everything at once - flogging, slapping, being pulled by the hair, to cry, to be punished, and for his soul to be eased from the burden of his usual responsibilities.

Cartman got himself comfortable and started to slap loudly on the conviniently standing out asscheeks with his palm. Kyle was panting constrained and shuddering, when he was being slapped too hard. Sometimes, Cartman would choose the belt, they even had a whip, and a solid black riding crop, but it was still the best with a bare hand. The perfect interaction, skin to skin. Couple times Cartman carefully slapped his balls, and every time Kyle howled loudly and spreaded his legs even further, though, he was already shaking.

“Don’t you want to fuck-out now, Kyle?” Cartman asked innocently. “Aren’t you one bitch, who always likes to fuck-out, no? Always has to make a claim.”

Kyle shook his head negatively.

“No?” Cartman sound unconvincingly surprised. “Well look at this! Now I certainly know, that each educational lesson should be supported by a bodily complement.”

Kyle started to howl, his legs shook, and it was clear, that he had a hard time keeping up. He looked at Cartman with a foggy gaze and licked his swollen lips.

“Well,” Cartman said, stroking his knee. “Let's get the needles out of you?”

“Yes, please,” Kyle bubbled out.

His lashes stuck together, and eyes reddened, so much like an albino-rabbit. But the gaze directed at Cartman was a loyal one, and that gaze was so full of trust, it immediately made Eric’s mouth dry.

“This needle taught you obedience,” Cartman pointed out, carefully pulling out the smallest needle.

Kyle gasped.

“And this one - taught you how to pleasure your “hauptsturmfuhrer”,  Cartman smiled.

Now there was only resignation in Kyle’s eyes, no irony or insolence, no attempts to be nonverbally rude. Only love, respect and loyalty. Everything, that Cartman had dreamed about.

“And this one,” said Cartman quietly, moving the biggest needle around with a tip of his finger. “This was your reward for your trust, my love.”

Kyle sobbed. There was only one needle left inside him, not a big one, but not a small one either. It’s edges were sparkling with metal in contrast with reddened skin and swollen punctures.

“And this one, I think, I would leave inside you forever,” Cartman said thoughtfully. “Because it symbolises that you belong to me. However, the more I think about it, I don’t need any fucking needles to own you with all your giblets, completely.”

Kyle smiled at him weakly and asked for a kiss, with his gaze. Cartman leaned across him, loosened the belt and gently massaged Kyle’s wrists for couple minutes. He then moved back and watched closely worn-out, but glowing triangle-shaped face, wet from sweat, tears and spit. Kyle was obediently lying on the bed, with spreaded legs and hands, awkwardly pulled closer to the chest. He was looking back at Cartman, sobbing quietly.

“Com tu mir, jude,”* called Cartman.

“Ya woll, herr hauptsturmfuhrer,”* Kyle replied hoarsely and readily crawled towards Cartman. He was moving clumsily, and his hands were numb, while his ass was burning from spanking, but Kyle was so desperate to obey, reaching out greedily, as if his life depended on it. Eric decided, that Kyle surely earned his reward.

Cartman lay him on the back, quickly lubricating own dick, thinking, that there was no necessary need to lubricate Kyle - he was good with just stretching, and a bit of pain would only add pleasure to both of them. Kyle, in response to the penetration, gasped and grabbed other’s shoulders, throwing his head back. Cartman tenderly kissed his hot wet lips, biting at his throat, just below the jaw, sinking in his teeth. Kyle’s life was in his… well, not in his hands, but actually in his teeth, and in this moment Cartman had Kyle, completely, possessing his every breath and movement. Kyle was whining, soft and supple, like clay. Flexible, obedient, Cartman’s own personal sweet, loudmouthed and always rebellious jew.

Cartman sat back, pulling Kyle’s beautiful, muscular leg onto his shoulder, turned Kyle on a side and continued. Kyle’s eyes started to roll back, he wasn’t even moaning anymore, only incoherent wheezing coming from his mouth. He jolted, once, then twice, weakly crying out and cumming, squirming and clawing the bed sheets with tensed fingers. He immediately relaxed and stared into the ceiling with hollow eyes.

Cartman only needed a couple minutes to follow him. He fell onto Kyle, in the last moment managing to move some of his weight onto the elbows.

“Eric,” exhaled Kyle. “E-e-eric.”

And it was Cartman’s intonation, that he was left to live through a couple minutes of horrifically precise, only if hallusious feeling, that he and Kyle somehow became one living being, with shared thoughts and wants for two.

Finally, he was released from his post-orgasm high, and he reluctantly got off of a very weak and spent Kyle. He was looking into the ceiling with wide eyes, in where was no trace of consciousness. Cartman shortly felt proud of himself.

What an imbecile he was, when he let himself think, that the drunk and forced fuck, that he had - was the best, that he could get from Kyle. Because like this, with consent, was much better, much sweeter: when Kyle was reaching out to him, when he wanted to snuggle or was asking for punishment. When he was not afraid, but anticipating, and wasn’t lying in the snow after, wounded and lost, fallen into the shock, but was here, in their shared bed, completely satisfied and happy, covered in trails of their perverted, harsh love.

Finally, Kyle started to move, he shivered and blinked, coming back to himself. Cartman covered him in blanket, took into his hands and snuggled to himself, like a child. Kyle gratefully leaned into his chest and sighed.

“It’s such bliss,” he said with a hoarse, broken voice. “I can’t even describe, how good it feels. It’s too bad I can’t show it to you.”

“Well, I can see it clearly,” Cartman replied, smiling. “I can see everything on your face, sweety.”

Kyle glanced at him and smiled.

“I know what you’re trying to say,” he mumbled. “That I’m a naturally slutty jewish whore, right?”

“We-ell,” Cartman narrowed his eyes in a grin. “You are, indeed, a sure-fire jewish slutty whore, but with one and big bonus.”

Kyle questionably raised one eyebrow.

“You are an exclusively personal slut,” explained Cartman. “For my strictly personal use.”

“Oh,” Kyle sighed, rolling his eyes. “Bad old compliments from Cartman.”

“Okay, fine,” Cartman scoffed. “You deserved it, alright, I agree. You are the universal queen of all slutty-whores, and you’re mine. Is that better?”

“Sure,” Kyle replied sarcastically. “Let the cat in, he’s scratching the door.”

Cartman obeyed: sat Kyle on the bed, to let in an angry Goring and to throw away the used needles and gloves, then turned the lights off. Kyle was rolling in the bed, trying to find a nice place. It seemed, his butt hurt from spanking, and his punctures itched.

“Baby, you alright?” Cartman asked just in case.

Kyle never complained about what had happened between them once, but a few times Cartman woke up in the middle of the night, because Kyle was crying and moving in his sleep. He seemed to feel afraid a great deal at that time. And Cartman, waking up to this scene for the first time, was afraid too, not knowing what to do or how to help.

“Yes,” Kyle sleepily replied. “I’m completely, fucking amazingly alright. Lie down already, don’t just stand there. Come here and warm me up.”

Cartman complied, getting under the blanket and embracing Kyle from behind.

“It was a good date after all,” Kyle said thoughtfully, while Goring was stomping around their feet, getting comfortable. “With you, Eric, I’ll never get bored… but let’s just go to the cinema next time?”

“Does it look like I’m objecting?” Cartman replied. “It’s been a long time since I last fucked you in the cinema, and we need to rectify this large oversight.

“Ugh!” Kyle sighed. “At least once, can you try to be serious?”

“Oh I can,” Cartman said. “For example, right now, I’ll seriously bite off a little bit of you.”

Kyle instantly eagerly turned to face him, nose to nose, throwing a mewing Goring off the bed, but Cartman only grinned.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Don’t make this face, jew. I’m saying it with love.”

Kyle rolled his eyes.

“Just sleep already, Cartman,” he replied. “And don’t even think about biting me! I’ll kill you, with no regards to the heartfelt feelings between us!”

“Alright,” Cartman gave up, pulling Kyle closer to himself and hugging him tightly. “As you wish, mister lawyer.”

They were laying in silence, bumping at each other’s knees, then Kyle sat up, grabbed his laptop from the nightstand and put it on his knees.

“Please, don’t tell me that you’ve decided to work right now,” whined Cartman, squinting his eyes at the light. “It’s not the time!”

“Nah,” Kyle waved at him. “Let’s watch something before going to sleep… but not porn or something like The Triumph of the Will.

“Why do I have the feeling that you watch porn two times more than I do?” pointed out Cartman. “I have no need for that, since you’re one horny jew, who can never get enough.”

Kyle scoffed, pinched Cartman’s nipple and thought. Cartman was watching his face closely, lit up by the light from the laptop.

“You wanna do a home vid?” he guessed.

“Well… no,” Kyle sighed. “One of us here is very noticable.”

He traced Cartman’s hand with his fingertips, all the swastikas, lozungs, and numbers.

“We can put camera over there,” Cartman suggested, nodding towards the wardrobe. “Below face level.”

“No,” Kyle replied. “If we’re found out, there might be trouble.”

“Could you just imagine, what that would look like,” Cartman suggested in a calm voice. “A neonazi is brutally punishing an orthodox jewboy, who got himself lost in Mitte in the middle of the night.”

“Oh god,” Kyle only replied, rolling his eyes. “I look like an orthodox so much.”

“And no one will check,” Cartman laughed. “There will be enough if you’d only say ‘ _Oy vey iz mir_ ’ and pray in yiddish.”

“I don’t speak it,” Kyle objected. “Cartman, stop your fantasies, do me a favor.”

“Well, I’m not exactly against the retrospective,” informed Cartman, getting carried away. “An SS officer is performing an interrogation with predilection of a captured czech jew with a punishment later on...”

Kyle was looking at him for couple minutes, seemingly irritated, then laughed and stroked his arm, covered in tattoos.

“You’re totally sick, herr hauptsturmfuhrer,” he pointed out. “But no, we won't do something like this.”

“But you want to,” Cartman said calmly. “Just imagine how many people will see, how I torture you, and how much you like it...”

“What do you mean ‘how many people’?!” riled up Kyle. “What are you planning?!”

“We’ll upload it on some pornsite,” Cartman shrugged his shoulders. “On RedTube. What? Don’t be greedy.”

“Try to imagine,” Kyle replied, with his nostrils widening angrily. “I don’t want some random people jackin’ off on me! And don’t you care that some may recognise you with all those tattoos?”

“Oh I don’t care,” Cartman replied indifferently. “Let ‘em jerk it, losers. And you, baby, stop your bitchin’. I’m well aware of all your hidden fantasies.”

“What fantasies?” Kyle said outraged, but Eric looked at him with a grin, lacking any malice, then lovingly stroked his cheek.

“Yes, all of your hidden fantasies,” he smiled. “You’re a little perv, even if you come off as being upright. It is a fact, you know, a distinct trait of all the quiet ones - always so innocent, not even a tip in the butt, but in their mind, they get it enough times to film a feature length porno movie!”

Kyle was feverishly swallowing air and trying to think of some objections or arguments, not realizing yet that his deep blush and sparkling eyes have already sold him out.

“Admit it, baby,” Cartman purred out, having fun. “You cum at your most orgasmic, when you imagine that someone’s watching us, right? That’s why you never close the curtains at night. I’m actually curious, who might you be thinking of? Your mom? No, that’s too hardcore even for you. Hm-m… rabbi? And then you’d be like, ’ _oh, rebe, I have sinned!_ ’”

Turning pink Kyle loudly smacked his cheek instead of answering. Cartman started laughing, he wasn’t offended.

“Who else might have crawled into your head?” he said thoughtfully, touching the place of the slap. “Oh, god damn it, I know! It must be our friend Stan Marsh! A married one hundred percent straight, who has couple of kids in a perspective. And here you are imagining how he, all righteous, watches your mouth water at the sight of my dick, you taking it in the mouth, and lending me your ass happily, like an obedient trained nazi whore. Well, did I guess it right, huh?”

Kyle was silent.

“No,” he finally said, somehow getting ahold of his voice. “With a home porn - bad idea, not smart and dangerous. We won’t expose ourselves like this.”

“Uh-huh,” Cartman smugly replied, so fake, that Kyle couldn't stop from smiling, guessing, that this conversation wasn’t over.

Cartman smiled too, he was amused by this self-righteous and somewhat predictable reaction from Kyle to the clear truth.

“Are you watching?” Kyle asked, starting the movie. “It’s some horror.”

“Yeah,” Cartman replied sleepily, and in a couple minutes, his hand lying across Kyle’s stomach, heavied.

Kyle glanced at him and noticed, that Cartman was asleep. His face was calm and relaxed. The non-disappearing wrinkle between his eyebrows was gone. Kyle hated that wrinkle, it meant that Cartman was always on guard, always waiting for trouble, like a wild animal, living in a savage jungle. But right now, Cartman was safe, that’s why he relaxed, probably, having a good dream. Kyle put the laptop back on the nightstand, moved a cat to the side and kissed Cartman’s temple.

“Herlich willcommen in maine verrukte welt,”* Cartman muttered incoherently.

Kyle grinned, kissing his cheek again and whispered:

“I’m long present in your mad world, Eric. No normal person would imagine, how others jack off to them. That’s why we will try it one day. Let’s close gestalt*.”

Cartman sighed, smiled in his sleep and went silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the fanart for this fic by [this awesome artist](https://crazytom666.tumblr.com/)  
>  [final art](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/2hlGcaa5ItAQru4fE1A5e0piAFKGD_oShlVtaQpCLSOGYD1tiA4qAwNsljvlHublMIAQDz5fmnJFGZfbmploRtHPhnOZlCb7jjieY2QgvpqXfP006HeD5IvRpj2xS1SGfpGgQIBAu4DuFyZjSxGttjlSHvGIiIqcq_J_UJI3lV5DXb8LGjsu8uqGtccGGEtg88nm7bzBRIXyRqJeLHvmQOZtf2_kHIc9UmPD_9GrY28xpgUoXH_av9srpzc77Rcr0nY8Id3JajQhlhPBiIYuils_xr8ldd5ic0llF1ip2F-HcqMPV3ItpxkHZEOKtngnV4RkdVBGGXkTTZKbaF_iWo9sa_YkIQn7w-fLeiUv0HTv1RSJoNY2i0CydAjFbav9aSsEgCN2O8a_U4wYSJtDFt4UqrDrsEFSnSnWysUb-1ayKYNGwWCjw9rCH3DDTF61IeFCjUYsJHXdaVJCrm_dfDoh6c7uaJHh5qbd2rozrvAYFhYBWMAEK1K1bLiHWqy4qkGTNYvXbXlK5O2BImys3rMpaLOwMh9O8wrAHk0wFIypagRY_bPMxxYwcIDbvmwGgZOzaKCihoxmuHXg2G35OOqnBZr06HzM=w1920-h940)  
> "Ich glaube an mein Feind" - "I believe in my enemy". A Nazi lozung, coming from Richard Darre’s speech, who was a reichmeister of food supply.
> 
> \- Komm zu mir, Jude. - Come to me, jew.  
> \- Ja wohl, Herr Hauptsturmführer! - Roger that, mister captain! 
> 
> Herzlich Willkommen in meiner verrückte Welt. - Welcome to my mad world.
> 
> Cartman’s tattoo - a freestyle translation of a song by Rammstein "Führe mich" (OST "Nymfomaniac" Lars fon Triver).
> 
> Führe mich  
> Halte mich  
> Ich fühle dich  
> Verlass mich nicht  
> Ich verlass dich nicht
> 
> Zwei Bilder nur ein Rahmen  
> Ein Körper doch zwei Namen  
> Zwei Dochte eine Kerze  
> Zwei Seelen in einem Herzen (с)  
> [listen on YT](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1FY1ovNtQo)  
> To close gestalt - in simple words, gestalt means an unfinished figure which is still recognizable to a naked eye or a mind. Therefore, an expression means to 'end one's business', 'close the case' etc. Or even more simply - finish something unfinished.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hello, fellow readers who’ve reached the end of this story. I hope, that you enjoyed it as much as I did when I read it for the first time. I really liked it and wanted to share with some of my friends, who didn’t know russian. This is probably one of my all-time favorite fics, that I loved a lot. It also has a part two. I will certainly translate it one day, because I love this story a lot and I like translating, apparently. Thank you!  
> P.S please consider leaving kudos on Vodolej’s orig fic here, on AO3! They are the greatest author who blessed us with their amazing works.


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